


Flight Club

by tikistitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where  our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord.  Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway.  The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea.  Hijinks ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homeschooling

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do a high school AU because I'd never done one, but this, as usual, is a weird tiki take on the genre. As it turns out, we don't spend a whole heckuva lot of time in the high school building. I did want the angels to stay angels, so we'll see how I did with that. 
> 
> And since people ask, yes, this is pretty much finished. It's somewhere in the neighborhood of 38K words. My posting schedule might get a little irregular, as I'm going to a con next week, but we'll try to get up something new every day or so.

**Title:** Homeschooling (Flight Club, Chapter 1 of 8)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death  
 **Warnings:** Cursing.  
 **Word Count:** 38,000 total  
 **Summary:** John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.  
 **Notes:** This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.) 

 

“Do we have to go another new school?” sighed Sammy, slumping forward against the front bench seat, hugging it desperately.

“Sam, you need to go to school, and no backtalk,” his father, John Winchester, who was in the driver’s seat, told him sternly.

“Why can't you just homeschool us? Then we could go along with you on your hunts!”

“Sam, we've been over this. I want no lip from you.”

“But Daaad-”

“Homeschooling is for hippie tree-huggers and religious whack-a-dos. Neither of which we are,” said John.

“Ha. Sammy's been touched by an angel,” laughed Dean, who was riding along in the passenger seat.

“Shut up, dick face,” gumbled Sam.

“Aw, c'mon, Sammy,” urged Dean. “Keep a positive attitude. Maybe you'll meet some cool new friends.”

“Ewwwww, you mean like those skanky girls you go with?”

Dean laughed. “Hey, they're nice girls! Quit being … chauvinistic!”

“Oh, you're now a big feminist?” asked Sam.

“I'm the biggest!” laughed Dean.

“Sam Winchester! No more of this!” warned John. “Now, we came to Sioux Falls for a reason. We've got you in almost at the beginning of the school year, so you won't miss anything this time. We'll have a real place here, not a motel room, and your Uncle Bobby can come over and check in on you every once in a while.”

“Because _you_ won't,” Sam muttered into the seat. It was a secret, between him and the Impala.

“What was that?” barked John.

“Nothing, sir,” said Sam, who sank back in defeat. He knew that tone in John's voice, and knew he had better not push it any further. The car stopped: they had arrived at Sam's new junior high. Same as the old junior high, thought Sam. And the one before that. And the one before that….

John turned off the engine, and the three got out, John stalking out and slamming the door behind him, Dean emerging to stretch lazily in the early fall sunshine, Sam slinking out like a small shadow.

“I need to get things squared away with Sam. You can take care of everything at the high school?” John asked Dean.

“Yeah, I know the drill,” said Dean, leaning back against the Impala. “I'll be cool.”

“You have Bobby's number. Call him if you need anything. Anything.”

“Yes, Dad.”

Sam grimaced. Call Bobby, not Dad. The message was pretty loud and clear to both of them. 

John flipped the car keys to Dean. “And take good care of her,” he said, indicating the Impala.

“I'll guard Baby with my life!” agreed Dean, grinning and opening the driver’s side door. And with a wink at Sam, he gunned the motor and was off. 

Going to find some skanks, Sam thought bitterly as the Impala’s familiar chug faded in the distance. He turned and trudged onward like a condemned man, following his father into the school building, dark cloud over his head.

 

The high school was like any high school ever in the history of everything.

Or so thought Dean Winchester.

It was getting hard to take it seriously any more. Who were the jocks? Who were the geeks? Who were the popular kids? 

Who gave a flying ass fuck? Seriously!

Just a couple more years, and he'd be free of all this weak bullshit. Sammy could continue on: the little egghead would probably go to a university and then marry his college sweetheart and have two and a half kids and a house in the suburbs with a little white picket fence and a pink flamingo in the yard to show he was still cool. That was fine, Dean didn't begrudge him. It was nice to think that somewhere on god's green earth there existed a Winchester with a normal fucking life.

It just wasn't for him. No, Dean was going to go follow the family tradition, and make life hell for some monsters. 

But right now, Dean was going to make life a little more bearable for Dean Winchester. That's why he was escorting Denise Hesselbacher down the hall to her next class. Sam would have called her one of his skanks, but that wasn't quite true. Not quite. But she was cute enough, and seemed to like it when Dean winked at her, so that was enough. And a redhead! His very first day, and he’s scored a redhead. Well, almost scored.

Now he just needed to get a phone number. You know, in case he wanted to text her some time. Like tonight, he thought, maybe after he got Sammy settled. No reason to wait around. Rental house or not, who knew how long they were gonna be in this shithole town? South Fucking Dakota? What was it about fucking Dakotas that they needed two of them? 

They turned a corner in the fluorescent-lit corridor, and Dean held in a laugh. Standing near the lockers were two of the biggest douche bags he had ever seen. The taller guy was in a polo shirt – a polo shirt! He was standing next to a similarly clean-cut, dark skinned guy who looked every single molecule as uptight and douchey. And both of them were glaring down at the odd man out: a smaller kid. Dean just got an impression of an overcoat that was at least one size too big topped by an unruly tangle of dark hair. Dean mused what the hell the odd trio had to talk about: grooming tips?

“Hey, who are those douche bags?” he whispered to Denise Hesselbacher.

Surprisingly, instead of giggling in a charming manner, which was the only appropriate response, Denise shushed him – she actually shushed him! She was darned lucky she was a redhead. “That's Michael. And Raphael,” she whispered, voice so low Dean had to lean down to take this in. Not that he minded, she was wearing a sort of nice perfume. It smelled like vanilla or something. “They're Malakhim brothers.”

“They're-” Dean started to ask, and then stopped himself. Eh, whatever, blended families. They sure as hell dressed like brothers. 

“Michael doesn't go to this school any more,” she whispered, and Dean caught another whiff of vanilla. He decided it was his new favorite scent. “He's in college.”

“Oh? Then why is he hanging around a high school?” _Perv_ , thought Dean with a grin. Maybe he was macking on the littler kid? Might need an ass kicking, that one.

“I dunno. I gotta go,” said Denise, who was already walking off. Running off, rather. Vanilla and all.

Weird chick, thought Dean, who was puzzled at having a girl depart before he'd even had half a chance to insult her. Since there were no phone numbers presently on the horizon, he stopped to give the douche bags another once over. To his surprise, the short guy they were talking to spared him a glance, two striking blue eyes. Dean smiled at him. No reason to be a jerk. The eyes registered surprise, and the mouth might just have flicked into a slight smile.

“And who might you be?” 

Dean looked up. It was the tallest douche bag, addressing him.

“Well, I might be James Hetfield. But I'm not,” grinned Dean, who just couldn't leave such an opening alone. “You _might_ be either Raphael or Michael,” he added. 

“Smart ass, huh?” asked the dark one. He had the most piercing eyes Dean had ever seen.

“Mouth, Raphael,” scolded the taller one, who must therefore be Michael. Dean frowned. Now that he'd had a better look, Michael seemed familiar, with dark hair and the kind of chiseled good looks like he belonged on a Cheerios box. But Dean couldn't quite place him.

“What, are you the head of the college Young Republicans come to recruit?” laughed Dean.

“As a matter of fact,” said Michael.

“Wow,” said Dean. He looked around and noticed the small, dark-haired kid had disappeared somewhere. He's smart, thought Dean.

“I think we've wasted enough time with this one,” sighed Raphael, slamming his locker and starting to go.

“And I think I'll be the judge of that,” Michael told him. Raphael bristled, but didn't reply. “You,” Michael told Dean. “You're obviously new here. So I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.” He leaned back, posing for his cereal box.

“That's awfully generous of you,” said Dean.

“You don't know how things usually go. They go … _my way_.”

Normally, a statement that blatantly idiotic would have gotten a belly laugh from Dean Winchester. But there was something about the way Michael said it that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He had been around supernatural entities since he was a tiny kid, and something about Michael struck him as not quite right.

_Not quite human._

“Well, I guess I'll see ya around, Mikey,” said Dean, who made to retreat.

“I guess you will,” said Michael. 

As Dean turned and walked away, he could have sworn he could feel Michael's eyes boring into his back. 

 

Some time later, Dean guided the Impala up to the entrance of Sam's new junior high.

His little brother sighed deeply, tossed his book bag in the front and slumped into the bench seat beside Dean.

“Belt,” Dean reminded him. “How did it go?”

“Curtis Westfall and his buddies are gonna beat me up after school,” moped Sam as he fastened his seatbelt.

“Oh, already making friends! What did you do.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“What did you do.”

Sam sighed. “I kept him off the kid he was picking on.”

“Who up and disappeared on you as soon as the bullies found a new friend?” Sam didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. “You’ll never learn, kid.”

“What about you? Where's the new _girlfriend_?”

“No new girlfriends. Yet!” smiled Dean. “But I met some guys at my high school. Something funny about them.”

“Everyone in Sioux Falls is a jerkwad,” grumbled Sam.

“Aw, give 'em a chance. Hey, you wanna stop and get pizza on the way home?”

 

Somewhere, up in a house on the hill, a boy sitting on his bed sampled his slice of pepperoni. 

The boy was both young and very, very old.

And the book he was poring over was very old as well. It was one of the very first books, in fact.

It was going to help him to help others. Which was, after all, his mission in life.

This life.

He had waited a long time for this moment. Well, long relative to his short mortal existence. Plotting and planning. It was sweet to see it all about to come to fruition, he thought, licking grease from his fingers. 

A dagger. He needed a dagger now. He got up to go look, but the pages started to turn. Holding a finger in his place, he leaned over and brushed his hand back over his bedside table. He grabbed something blindly – something flat and smooth and square – and stuck it in his place. He smiled as he glanced what it was, just before the pages flipped back. His little joke. 

And then he slipped off his bed to find a sharp blade.


	2. The Hunting Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean goes a-hunting, with quite unexpected results.

**Title:** The Hunting Life (Flight Club, Chapter 2 of 8)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death  
 **Warnings:** Cursing.  
 **Word Count:** 38,000 total  
 **Summary:** John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.  
 **Notes:** This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.) 

 

A week had passed in Sioux Falls, South Fucking Dakota, and Dean was not doing well.

Not in general, and not right now.

He had not run into Michael Malakhim after their first encounter, so it seemed likely that Denise Hesselbacher was right, and he was off attending college. But his brother Raphael seemed to be everywhere, giving him the stink eye, and to make matters worse there appeared to be a Malakhim brother in every class, including his own: some guy named Gabriel, who was the class cutup. The other brothers didn't seem to be as big dicks as Michael and Raphael. But none of them looked or acted anything alike, and all of them seemed … just a little bit off. In a sort of “not in Kansas any more Toto,” kinda way. Even though they were in South Dakota.

South Fucking Dakota.

Dean was starting to wonder seriously what the fuck. 

But he had also learned, to his dismay, that if you wanted someone to go running off like Denise Hesselbacher had, and then as a topper refuse to ever even meet your eyes again, start asking about the brothers Malakhim. So much for his fantasies about evenings spent with vanilla-scented redheads. It was enough to make him wanna go break into their house. Mansion, really: they all lived in some big rooty-toot shack up on a hill.

Breaking and entering was still a definite possibility. But in the now, Dean's lack of social success had driven him to one of his favorite vices, hunting. Signs pointed to vamp that hung out around the local cemetery, and if there was one thing Dean hated, it was vampires, sparkling or otherwise. Whoever they were, they weren't admittedly causing a whole lot of bother. He or she would occasionally drain a drunk high school kid or some poor homeless guy, that kind of thing. But it just fucking bothered Dean. Fucking vampires, he thought. Come on!

Dean had looked at it as practice, really, a way to keep his hand in the game. So one night after he'd gotten Sammy settled down for the evening, he'd lied about having a big date, and then tossed some freshly sharpened wooden stakes into Baby’s trunk and tooled down to the local graveyard. 

What he hadn't reckoned on (rookie mistake) was that there turned out to be not one annoying vampire, but two. And so now instead of a quick “stake and shake,” he found himself at the bottom of a freshly dug grave, waiting to get drained or, if he were really lucky, and both vamps were especially stupid, waiting for morning, where he hoped he could come up with a good lie for the groundskeeper as to how he'd fallen in.

He clung to the earthen side of the grave, listening to his own heart pounding, brain desperately ticking through any advantage. He had unfortunately dropped his stake in the fall, and had been too stupid to jam something actually useful like a vial of holy water in his pockets to keep them off. Stupid mistake. Dad would tan his hide. Funny, thought Dean, that even when faced with the undead, it was the thought of John Winchester's unsmiling face (and belt) that got him sweating.

Dean froze as he heard what sounded like a small scuffle overhead. He listened silently for a time, heart in his throat. Were they getting ready to jump him? Or had yet more vamps arrived? Then he heard a thump, like a falling body. And then a cry, and suddenly a vampire toppled into the grave beside him, landing with a thump. 

Dean carefully put a toe to it. The vamp was still alive – or whatever passed for alive in vampire – but it was out, cold.

Dean looked up to see a pale hand, reaching down into the grave. Dean peered into the darkness. It was the dark haired kid he'd seen talking to the Malakhim brothers that very first day of school. 

He reached out and grasped the hand, reaching another hand towards the earthen side to climb out, but was shocked to find himself yanked right out of the grave by a kid who didn’t look a whole lot bigger than Sammy.

“Are you all right?” asked the dark-haired kid. His voice, like his coat, seemed a little bit too big for him.

“I'm fine. Arm nearly yanked out of the socket though,” Dean joked, rubbing his painful shoulder.

“Oh! I apologize.”

“No, no, that was great.” Dean looked around and saw the other vampire lying unconscious on the ground. “Well, they don't look so good, though.”

“I routinely walk home by this route, and saw your encounter with these vampires. I hope you don't mind my intervention on your behalf?”

“Mind? Fuck no! I would be dead.”

“No, I'm sure you would have handled the situation in your own way,” hedged the kid.

“Well, thanks for the confidence. I'm Dean by the way,” he said, sticking out a hand.

“Castiel.”

“Thanks, uh, Castiel?” The boy nodded. “Uh, you're the guy I ran into the other morning? Talking to Michael and Raphael?” Dean asked, hoping this wouldn't make the kid run away.

“They are my older brothers. I have several … older brothers,” he said, looking off into the distance.

“Oh! Wow. Your brothers? You don't seem at all like them.”

“I don't?” Suddenly, his attention was back on Dean.

“Yeah, you're not a dick for one thing.”

The barest wisp of a smile came over Castiel's features. It was enough to make Dean wonder what it looked like when he really smiled. “You don't know my brothers.”

“No?”

“They are … dicks, pretty much. Can I ask what you were doing here? Battling vampires isn’t a common occupation for my high school classmates.”

“We have sort of a family business,” said Dean. “We hunt and kill supernatural beings.”

“Oh,” said Castiel, who peered at him for a long moment. “You are aware that I am an angel?” he asked dryly. 

“You're … what?”

“You do not know, do you? Myself and my family, we are angels, messengers of the Lord, come to earth.”

It was Dean’s turn to stare into the darkness. The kid didn't appear to be on crack. “Uh, come to earth, why?”

“To serve the Lord, our Father.”

“Serve him … doing what, exactly?”

“Well...” Castiel hedged. “It's a bit unclear at the present time. My Father … is not around. Much.”

“Huh, absentee dad. Yeah, I get that. When did you last talk?”

“I have, um, never seen Him. Myself.”

“You've never seen Him? Wow, that's even worse than our dad.”

“Should we, um...” asked Castiel, indicating the unconscious vampires as if he were eager to change an uncomfortable subject. “Clean up a little?”

“Oh, yeah! You gotta cut the heads off or they'll come back. I got stuff in the car...”

Castiel had already turned and struck out at the body that was lying nearby. And then hopped down into the grave and beheaded the other. He flipped a sword in his hand. Dean wondered how the hell he hadn’t noticed the sword before.

“That's cool,” said Dean.

“Angel sword,” said Castiel, reaching up a hand. Dean grabbed on and Cas hopped out as if it were nothing. He flipped the sword around again, and then to Dean's astonishment it disappeared from his hand. “I can't do a lot of angel stuff. Yet. But I can do that.”

“Wow,” said Dean, who for once had nothing else to say. “OK. Then we need to burn the bodies,” said Dean. “Can you, uh, light them up with angel juice too?” 

“Angel juice?” asked Castiel, pushing dark, unruly bangs out of his face to look up at Dean in puzzlement. “Oh, can I make fire by the Lord’s grace? Unfortunately, no.”

“Well, I got stuff for that in the car then,” said Dean, chuffed that he was not going to end up being entirely useless in this, his own endeavor. And so he spent his first evening as friends with Castiel the angel burning vampire bodies and sweeping the ashes into the fresh grave.

Dean recalled his “hot date” lie to Sammy. Sort of a weird first date, Dean thought with a smile. Now, if he could find a girl who punched out vampires....

“You know, this is just a suggestion. But you might consider bringing another person along when you … do this?” said Castiel, interrupting Dean's thoughts.

“Hunt?”

“Yes. You call it hunting?”

“It's a good idea. But Sammy's too young, and anyway, I don't really want him going into the business. Too fucking dangerous.”

“Sammy?”

“My kid brother. You'd like him I think.”

“It's good that you get along with your brother.” Castiel gave a funny, wistful smile.

“Well, we're all each other's got, really. I don't come from a big family. Like yours,” said Dean.

Castiel gave an odd look, as if he did not fee especially lucky. 

“Anyway. You wanna ride home?” asked Dean.

“I'm fine walking from here.”

“Yeah, but it's late, and the weather looks bad,” said Dean. Castiel shrugged, and they headed for the Impala. 

“Is this your car?” asked Castiel politely.

“Yeah,” said Dean, stuffing the rest of the equipment in the trunk, and somehow grateful to have something to show off. “It's my dad's actually, but he lets me drive it when he's away. Hop in.” Dean noticed that Castiel spent a moment looking at the door handle, and then seemed surprised when the door popped open when he grasped it. When he was finally seated, he looked around with much curiosity.

“Belt,” said Dean automatically as he jumped in. He was used to driving Sammy. Castiel looked confused again, but then imitated Dean when he pulled on his shoulder belt. “Uh, Cas,” asked Dean, “you have been in a car before, right?”

“Me? Not really, no,” Castiel told him.

“Wait. No shit?”

“Um. Really? Maybe when I was small? I don't recall.”

“Huh,” said Dean. He didn't inquire any further. The house where Castiel lived with his brothers was a short distance away, up on a low hill overlooking the town. It looked to Dean like something you would only see in the movies. Or … a certain theme park in Florida. Dean smiled to himself.

Dean noticed with interest that there were no other cars in the broad driveway, which he thought odd, since he knew Cas had several brothers. “I would say I'll see you around school,” said Dean as he parked the car, “but I don't really see you around school.”

“I generally spend my breaks in the library,” said Castiel.

“We could have lunch,” suggested Dean. 

“Would I need to bring a lunch?” asked Castiel.

“Well, yeah, that would probably help,” said Dean.

“All right. I will bring a lunch tomorrow.”

Dean grinned as Castiel exited the car, long overcoat flapping in the wind, giving a shy wave before he turned and walked to his front door. Dean pulled away, wondering quite frankly if Cas was going to run and ask his brothers what people packed in their lunches.

On the drive home, however, his skepticism took over. An angel? _Really?_

He couldn't deny the kid – a fairly scrawny kid – had knocked out not one but two vampires. And there was something that just seemed off about his brothers. But, angels of the Lord? Are you fucking kidding?

Not for the first time since he'd moved to Sioux Falls, Dean reached into his pocket and fingered the scrap of paper with Bobby Singer's number on it. This was just fucking weird, and he was curious. But Dad had left strict instructions to only call Uncle Bobby if there was some kind of emergency, and Dean somehow thought a kid who claimed his was a heavenly messenger of the Lord didn't fall under that category.

“What kind of date was that? You smell like gasoline!” said Sam.

“Sam, what have I told you about waiting up?” sighed Dean when he finally arrived back home, yawning. Sam continued to scowl at him accusingly, so Dean said, “OK. So, it wasn't exactly a date. But I did meet a cool kid.”

“Oh, so there's exactly one cool kid in all of Sioux Falls. Great.”

“Hey, I think you'd like him. Now, you need to get your ass to bed. And I need to finish my history report.”

“You're gonna face plant! You sure you don't want me to do it?” asked Sam.

“No, Sammy, I do not need my little brother to write my history report! Now, like SamJack says, get the fuck to bed!”

Sam grinned and headed off.

Dean yawned and sat down at the kitchen table. He pulled out his textbook.

And a few mere moments later, he face planted, falling asleep smack dab in the middle of the American revolution.

 

The next day, Castiel was waiting for Dean at lunchtime, paper sack in hand. Though the weather was getting brisk, they mutually decided to sit on a bench outside, as Dean especially had no patience for selecting the goddam lunchroom table appropriate for their status. They had just killed a nest of vampires, for Christ's sakes! Who cared what the cheerleaders thought of them? Well, other than the cute cheerleaders....

As it turned out, Cas, wrapped up as always in several layers of baggy clothing and a big coat, had brought a sandwich, although he seemed a bit hesitant about actually consuming it. 

“Hey, I hate to ask, Cas, but do you think you could do me a big favor?” asked Dean, taking a huge chomp of his own ham sandwich.

“Sure, you can ask,” Castiel told him, watching him chew with apparent curiosity. He took an experimental bite of his own sandwich and chewed.

“So, I got detention. I kind of fell asleep after I got home last night, so I didn't get in my Government homework?”

“Oh, I'm sorry about that,” said Castiel, who was still chewing. He swallowed, and appeared surprised at the result. He scowled at the sandwich. 

“Thing is, I usually pick up my brother. You remember I mentioned Sammy? Anyway, he's got some other kids who are bugging him.”

“Bullies?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I have dealt with that kind of issue before,” mused Castiel, who was peeking at the innards of his sandwich.

Dean nodded. Probably the reason the poor guy spent lunch in the library. Dean could imagine the small, weird kid who dressed funny would have his share of guys giving him shit. “Well, would it be too much.... Is there any way you could meet him after school and just walk home with him? Just to make sure there's no bloodshed? I mean, you handled yourself with those fucking vamps, I'm sure you'd have no problem with some junior high punks. Otherwise, I wouldn't ask.”

Cas did his almost-smile thing. Dean thought his eyes were literally shining. “I would be very glad to walk Sam home!” he told Dean. 

“OK. I mean, you don't need to babysit. He's got a key and everything. And there probably won't be any trouble anyway. I think he's a little paranoid.”

“I'm glad to do this for you, Dean.”

“Castiel! So, are we enjoying our sandwich?”

“Balthazar,” said Castiel, greeting the tall, slim boy who had just strode up. “Dean, this is my brother, Balthazar.” Like all of the Malakhim brothers, Balthazar and Castiel looked nothing like each other. Balthazar dressed nothing like Cas either: to Dean he looked like what he thought of as a theater kid. 

“Dean Winchester, no?” grinned the boy, flipping back an overly long scarf and reaching out a graceful hand to shake. Returning the shake Dean noticed that, unlike Castiel, all of Balthazar's clothes looked new and fitted perfectly.

“Dean Winchester yes,” said Dean through a mouthful of ham sandwich. “So, you're an angel too?” he added.

“I prefer Enochian-American, if you don't mind,” averred Balthazar. And then he said something in some kind of foreign language Dean didn't recognize.

“What was that?” asked Dean.

“I just offered my greeting in the language of my people!” announced Balthazar.

“'Get stuffed, mortal,' is one of our traditional greetings?” asked Castiel.

“Don't be tiresome, Cassie. After all, I made you a sandwich for your little tete a tete!” scolded Balthazar.

“Does tete a tete have anything to do with tits?” Dean asked Castiel.

Castiel blushed slightly but told him, “Um, no.”

“Then I'm probably not interested,” grinned Dean.

“You will forgive me,” said Balthazar.

“Why? Did you fart?” asked Dean. That actually merited a small sound from Castiel. Dean realized to his surprise that it was actually a laugh.

“You know something?” said Balthazar, tilting his head and putting a finger to his lips. “Dean Winchester, I think I like you. You're a little sassy. Raphael, of course, will shit his holy pants.”

“Raph? We've met,” said Dean.

“I'm sorry. And this time, I am sorry,” said Balthazar. He flourished a hand, and Dean noticed there was a cigarette in it. Funny, Dean hadn't seen him take out a pack. Or a lighter. It was sort of like Cas’ vanishing sword trick, only this guy wasn’t wearing several layers of baggy clothing plus an overcoat. A family of magicians? 

“Raph and Michael were around my first day,” Dean told him.

“Oh dear. The gruesome twosome? And you will still talk to our dear Cassie?”

“Hey, your brother is a good guy,” said Dean.

“Yes,” said Balthazar, leaning over and affectionately running a hand through his brother's tangled hair. “He needs friends. And a haircut. And to quit wearing Michael's horrible hand me downs.” He smiled and took a puff on the cigarette.

“I don't concern myself with my rainment. Clothes are a vanity. This earthly existence is vanity,” Castiel told him.

“Yes, all is vanity, but it would be nice to see you pretty face in there,” sighed Balthazar. Dean looked between the two brothers. For some reason, although they still didn't look like any brothers on earth, he had the vibe that they had been having this same conversation for a long time. For eternity, in fact.

“You ought invite your new friend for dinner some time,” smiled Balthazar.

“Oh, hell no, Balthazar!” said Castiel, who seemed genuinely upset.

“I'm joking, little one,” smiled Balthazar. 

“You know, Balthy, I wouldn't mind coming over to visit your house some time,” said Dean. “I mean, honestly, I'm a little curious. I tried asking around about you guys, but people act like I'm a leper.”

Balthazar gave a dramatic sigh. Yeah, theater kid, thought Dean. “First rule of Flight Club, don't talk about Flight Club,” smiled Balthazar.

“Michael, and Raphael after him, does not wish us to make our status widely known,” said Castiel, who looked concerned. “I do not wish to question my older brothers, but I find this … confusing. We are messengers of the Lord, come to earth!” he said earnestly.

“Oh, and what is our Father’s latest message?” smiled Balthazar. Castiel shrugged. “We have a bit of a communication issue,” said Balthazar. “At any rate, I must fly. It was a pleasure meeting you, Dean Winchester.” 

Dean nodded, but then stopped chewing.

Bathazar had literally disappeared, to the soft sound of beating wings.

Dean turned to Castiel, who was doing the not-quite-smiling thing at him. “He does that,” Cas told Dean.

 

Sam Winchester had had a bad day. And it was just about to get worse. Curtis and his stooges (Sam didn't even want to use space in his brain to give them names) had been picking on him nonstop all day. Dean was supposed to pick him up at 3:30 sharp, as he always did, and release him from his daily misery.

It was now 3:35.

And they were circling. Like sharks scenting blood. Sam stood outside the junior high, shivering, only partly because of the chilly weather. 

“Waiting for your boyfriend, Weener-chester?” taunted Curtis, as his lackeys laughed.

“GOD! That's not even a good taunt!” raged Sam. Me and my big mouth, he thought, regretting for the hundredth time John Winchester's absolute rule not to engage with “civilians.” Sam fumed. Maybe he would grab one of the salt guns he wasn't supposed to know Dean had around. It would just scare them, right? 

And get Sam expelled. And maybe get Dean in trouble. And then maybe get Social Services involved.

And then John would come home from wherever the heck he was to murder Sam.

“I'll kick your ass,” said Curtis.

“I'd like to see you try,” grumbled Sam. And then of course, idiot Curtis, who couldn't even throw a decent punch for Christ’s sake, but outweighed Sam by a good 20 pounds, pushed him down.

Sam scrunched his eyes shut. Just take the beating, he told himself. Maybe they'll lay off? It never worked of course. It was a stupid thing adults would tell you. It was as stupid as telling you to ignore bullies. 

And then something really odd happened: absolutely nothing.

Sam peered up through his interlaced fingers. Curtis' feet were kicking, but not doing him any harm. That was because they were no longer on the ground.

Sam sat up to take it all in. Curtis was being held up by the scruff of the neck by another, older boy, who Sam didn't recognize. The boy was rather buried in a long, overly big coat that looked like a hand me down, and his face was partially obscured by a tangle of dark hair, but you could see the piercing blue eyes, which seemed to bore through Curtis. 

“Let me go! Creep!” yelled Curtis.

Here was a funny thing: although Curtis was struggling and wiggling, the other boy stood absolutely still, like some kind of alabaster statue representing vengeance personified. 

“If you touch him again,” said the dark haired boy, in a voice that seemed far too big for him, a throaty low growl, like a predator, “If you touch him again, or I hear of you touching him again, or you think about touching him again, _I will end you._ ”

Curtis gulped. His buddies gulped.

Sam gulped. This dude was a little scary. Awesome, but scary. 

“Now tell him you are sorry,” ordered the boy.

“Sorry,” whimpered Curtis. Sam noticed, with no little glee, that he had peed his pants.

The dark-haired boy released his grip, and Curtis thumped to the floor. He looked up, teary eyed.

“Go,” rasped the boy. 

Curtis didn't need to be told twice.

Sam watched in wonder as his tormentors tore off. He had the distinct feeling he had no more to fear from them. He looked up at his savior, standing tall, the setting sun behind him. “Um. Hey, thanks.”

“You are Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester’s brother?” inquired the dark-haired boy.

Sam nodded.

“I am Castiel,” said the boy, formally extending his hand. “Although your brother seems to prefer to call me Cas. Either is acceptable.”

Sam gratefully took his hand and stood, suddenly feeling very mature. “Hi, Cas,” he said, squaring his shoulders.

“I am to escort you home today. Your brother has been … um, delayed.”

“Dean's in detention again?”

“Well, yes,” Cas admitted.

“What did he do this time?” sighed Sam.

Sam thought he saw an actual flick of a smile on Cas' face. “This is a common occurrence?”

“Daily!” said Sam.

The smile flickered again. “I do not have a vehicle, so we will walk home. I hope this will be acceptable to you?”

“Sure!” said Sam. It was a nice fall day, after all, and this guy was so weird and badass, he seemed like he'd be fun to talk to. And he didn't talk down to Sam, which was pretty cool.

They walked in silence for a while, and then Sam asked, “So, you're Dean's friend?”

Castiel seemed to consider this. “I supposed it would be correct to term me a friend. I'm not certain. I am afraid I do not have many friends.”

“You're not like Dean's other friends.”

“Oh. What are they like?”

“Skanky girls!”

The small smile edged up again. “I am certain someone like Dean has, um, an active social life.”

“You know,” said Sam, because he really needed Castiel to know this, “I can fight.”

“You can? That's good.” Castiel didn't question this, which Sam liked.

“My dad taught me! But dad doesn't want me in fights. He doesn't want me to end up in detention all the time. You know, like my stupid brother.”

Castiel seemed to be looking around. He leaned over towards Sam and said, softly, “You need to pick out the alpha.”

“The what?” asked Sam. Castiel seemed cool, but he talked kinda funny.

“The, uh, the leader?”

“Oh!” said Sam.

“You need to observe them closely. It is not always the biggest, nor the strongest. But if you find him, and defeat him soundly, the others will cease vexing you.”

“Oh! Vexing means like stealing my lunch money?”

“Yes, vexing like stealing your lunch money. I have had dealings with such types before, unfortunately.”

“You were bullied?”

Castiel actually managed a very small laugh. “Something like that. At school. And then I go home. And … I have many brothers,” he added ruefully.

“Really? Your brothers give you shit?”

“Yes.”

“Dean would never do that to me!”

“Well, then he is a good brother.”

“So how did you guys meet?”

“Well, um, we met briefly at school. When he was talking to my brothers. But we became acquainted at the graveyard.”

Sam sighed deeply and dramatically. “Ha. So he was out hunting! I knew it! What was it? Vampires? Or werewolves?”

“Um. Vampires. So your brother has done this before?”

“It's always vampires! I've told him and told him, you need to go after ghosts! That's the issue here!”

“Really?” asked Castiel, who was not acquainted with such things. 

“You know how many spooks per capita you got in this state?”

“Well, no, not really.”

“It's through the roof! But, Dean won't let me help him, 'cause he thinks I shouldn't be hunting. But he's too fucking lazy to do research! Oh, uh, 'scuze me,” added Sam, realizing he was cursing in front of a stranger who might be all religious or something.

“No problem. I find lore pertaining to the spirit world to be an area of interest myself.”

“Really? Cool! You're pretty cool, Cas!”

“Um, unfortunately, I am whatever the opposite of cool is. Isn't this your house?”

“Oh. Yeah,” said Sam as they came upon his rental house. He felt his sunny mood – the first in days – start to cloud. Who the hell knew when Dean would be back, and this was the first intelligent conversation he had had in forever. Then Sam had a glorious idea. “Hey, why don't you come in! We could discuss spirit entities, and we still have some ice cream left I think, and I have a new video game I borrowed! We have a Nintendo! I set it up myself!”

“I am not very good at playing video games,” Castiel confessed.

“C'mon, Cas! You don't wanna go home yet, right! You said your brothers are dicks!”

“Well, I didn't say that specifically.... Maybe, just until your brother comes home?” said Castiel. 

 

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean found himself pleasantly surprised to come home from a shitty hour in detention to find Castiel, alleged angel of the Lord, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his house playing Godzilla Stomps Again with his little brother. Dean knew this game. They were in the part where you dunk the boss in a fiery volcano.

Cas had politely stood up to greet Dean, meaning he had stopped paying attention to gameplay.

“Hey, we haven't finished this level!” Sam complained as the television roared with the rage of the radioactive monster.

“Hey, Cas! You know, I just asked you to walk him home, you didn't need to babysit,” Dean told him.

“I'm not a baby!” said Sam, who had hit pause and popped up. 

“It was no problem, Dean. Sam is showing me how one achieves conquest of Godzilla!”

“Anyway, if you want, you could stay for dinner,” Dean offered. “I'm ordering pizza.”

“Can I call? Can I call?” asked Sam. Dean nodded, and Sam dove for the phone. 

“Just don't get anchovies again. Yuck,” said Dean. “And make it extra large! With double meat!”

“What about half vegetables?” asked Sam.

“Vegetable pizzas are for douche wads!” said Dean.

“You realize I do not technically need to eat,” Castiel politely told Dean.

“Oh, come on, it won't kill you,” said Dean, poking Cas in the stomach, making him cringe. Cas had taken off the heavy overcoat and laid it over a chair, which only made him look scrawnier. “You look like you could use a few pounds on you. Did you just have a growth spurt or something?”

“A … what?”

“You just got taller. Right?”

“Yes, that's correct.” 

“You might wanna bulk up, if you're gonna hunt vampires with me!” said Dean, flexing a bicep.

“I am not overly concerned. For, this is not really my body,” Cas told him.

“It's not?” asked Dean. 

“This is merely my earthly vessel. When the time comes, I will be called up to heaven, to dwell with the spirit of the Lord, my Father, in heaven for eternity.”

Sam, who was back from calling in the pizza, exchanged a skeptical glance with Dean.

“Uh, and when exactly is this occurring?” said Dean. “I mean, not that I'm doubting you, it's just, you said you hadn't talked with your dad in a while....”

“Well. I guess I don't know. Precisely,” confessed Castiel.

“So. You'll stay and have a slice?” asked Dean.

Castiel looked at Sam, who nodded, and nodded himself.

“Cool. And I might get beer too,” said Dean, winking.

“How can you get beer?” asked Castiel, blue eyes wide.

Dean grinned and showed him a driver's license.

“Who is … James Hetfield?” asked Castiel.

“Just a guy,” grinned Dean. “The guy who buys my beer!”

 

Dean pulled up for the second time in a week outside the creepy mansion on the low hill just outside town.

“Thank you for the pizza. And, uh, the beer,” said Castiel.

“Thanks for watching Sammy.”

“You can walk with me any time, Cas. We're buddies now,” said Sam, holding out a fist over the front seat bench. Castiel flashed a curious glance at Dean, and then cautiously bumped Sam's fist.

And, without a word, he was out of the car and up his porch, his long coat trailing in back of him like … well, it was not unlike angel wings.

“I like that guy. He's real Old Testament,” said Sam, wriggling over the bench seat into the front of the car. 

“You're not gonna be able to do that for very much longer you know,” said Dean. “You're gonna have to leave a leg or two in the back seat.” Sam had been growing like a weed since last summer. They had had to get to Walmart twice to get him jeans that didn't make him look like a dork. Dean thought that was cool, as long as Sam didn't end up taller than him, of course.

“Boy,” said Sam, taking one last look back. “You know what that place reminds me of?”

“The Haunted Mansion?” grinned Dean.

Sam laughed. “You should be Cas' friend,” he gabbled. “Then he could come over more.”

“Seatbelt!” chided Dean. Sam clicked the belt into place, and Dean began driving home. “So you like him? I mean, even though he's an angel?”

“He's what?” gasped Sam.

“He claims he's an angel.”

Sam suddenly twisted around and stared back at the Malakhim mansion. “But, he lives in a house. I mean, that's not heaven.”

“Yeah, he lives in a big house with other angels.”

“No shit?”

“No shit,” laughed Dean.

“Well, I guess I like angels then! He could be our friend.”

“Just like that?” asked Dean, amused that this was the same morose kid his dad had practically dragged to school a few weeks ago.

“Yeah sure. We were talking about spirits when we were playing Godzilla, and he knows a bunch, that's why he spends a ton of time in the library, he likes reading about arcane lore, like I do.”

“You played Godzilla and talked about arcane lore?” asked Dean. Really, he adored his kid brother, but he was starting to fear for whether the little guy was ever in his life gonna get laid.

“I told him about the spirit entity issue, and he said he'd look into it!”

“The spirit entity…. Sam, you know Dad doesn’t want you hunting.”

“He doesn’t want you hunting either. I wonder what he’d say about those vampires you staked!”

“How did you know…. Oh. Well. OK. It’ll be our secret right?”

“Right!”

 

“Is that beer I smell?”

Castiel sighed. Despite the plethora of angelic ears in his home, he had managed to sneak nearly all the way to his room without detection. 

He paused, slightly thankful that the voice in question belonged to Gabriel and not Raphael, who had started to act terribly officious since Lucifer left for Berkeley. “I had dinner. With a friend,” said Castiel. He turned and looked down at Gabriel, still mildly surprised to be able to look down at anyone who lived in his house. Castiel was now at least two inches taller than his older brother. He thought about what Dean had told him, about a growth spurt, wondering if growing taller meant he would fledge soon. 

Not that it mattered. It was all vanity. After all.

“A friend?” asked Gabriel, who had now suddenly appeared in front of Castiel. “To have a friend, don't you actually have to meet people?”

“I meet people,” frowned Castiel. He opened his bedroom door, and was not at all surprised to see Gabriel already inside, sitting on his bed.

“What people? Who are people? People people?” prodded Gabriel.

“How is it that you don't already know?” asked Castiel.

“What does brother Raphael think?” countered Gabriel.

Castiel tossed his coat over the back of a chair and sat down heavily on the chair. “Dean encountered Raphael and Michael earlier. I hear they did not get along.”

“Eh. Who gets along with those douches.” Gabriel was now up overhead swinging from Castiel's light fixture. 

“I'm not sure that's strong enough to hold your weight,” said Castiel, cringing as he heard the creaking. He turned to see Gabriel now sitting up on his desk. “And could you please stop doing that?”

“You just told me to get down,” sassed Gabriel.

“I realize you're fledged and I'm not,” said Castiel. “You don't need to … flaunt it.” Although Gabriel was a full year younger than Balthazar, they had come into their fledging almost simultaneously; meaning Castiel remained the only immature angel in the house. Of course, none of this really mattered. But Castiel still found himself annoyed by it. And also found himself annoyed at his own annoyance. 

“Isn't it all vanity?” taunted Gabriel.

“It's … fucking annoying!”

Gabriel smiled and hopped off Castiel's desk. “Don't worry little brother, it'll happen.” He leaned over, gripping Castiel's shoulders, and whispered in his ear. “What, you wanna be all grown up for your new friend?”

There was a brief flash of light. Castiel hadn't even realized he was doing it, but he was standing up, his hand thrust out, and Gabriel was now lying down on the bed. Where Castiel had evidently pushed him.

“Whoa!” said Gabriel, as Castiel held up his own hand in wonder. 

“Get.... Get out of my room, Gabriel,” Castiel rasped.

“If you're gonna act like that,” said Gabriel, who disappeared.

Castiel sat down, hard, and staring at his hand as if it had betrayed him.

 

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” said Balthazar to the knock on his door. “Cassie! You are up late.”

“I was out,” he admitted.

“With Dean Winchester?”

“Yes.”

“That’s nice, dear! Say, since you’re here, you wouldn’t mind grooming my wings, would you?”

“Sure,” said Castiel.

Balthazar smiled and removed his dressing gown, so that he was only clad in fine silk pajama bottoms. He sat down on a low stool, and seemed to shrug, which extended his broad, light-feathered wings.

Castiel sat behind him. He grabbed a jar from Balthazar's shelf, and scooped up a small amount of the oily substance inside. He rubbed his hands together, and then began slowly working the oil through Balthazar’s feathers.

“Oh, god, that feels so good! Your hands are magic, brother,” said Balthazar, ruffling his wings in a satisfied manner.

“Balthazar. Do you think I will be fledging soon?”

“Well, of course. What a silly question. You’re right about the age when I did.”

“But I’m older than Gabriel was.”

“Gabriel is what modern science refers to as an outlier. And reasonable people call a little dickwad. I wouldn’t compare myself to him. But why is this suddenly a concern?”

“Gabriel is being … annoying.”

“It's like a career for him. I wouldn't let him get to you.” Balthazar looked up into the mirror, and saw Castiel's concerned face over his shoulder. “Between you and me, I don't wonder if our Gabriel was a little young. He seems to mostly use his grace to get himself into mischief. He is on shaky ground. With the family.”

Castiel looked up from ministering to his brother's wings, surprised that Balthazar would tell him this. 

“Michael is concerned. Gabriel's grades have been slipping. There might be … repercussions.”

Castiel nodded. “Michael is concerned, not Raphael?” he asked.

“Michael. And Lucifer.”

Castiel shivered. Lucifer was everybody's favorite. But not his. Not his.


	3. Dinner at Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean dresses for dinner, because you sure don't wanna show up nekkid with a bunch of angels.

**Title: Dinner at Eight (Flight Club, Chapter 3 of 8)**  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death  
 **Warnings:** Cursing.   
**Word Count:** 38,000 total  
 **Summary:** John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.  
 **Notes:** This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.) 

 

“So, if you’re going against a werewolf, you should take Cas along,” said Sam from the back seat. 

“What?” said Dean, who nearly steered the car into a ditch.

“That would be fine,” said Cas, sipping contemplatively on his chocolate Happy Clownshake. This afternoon the brothers had taken Castiel to a drive through restaurant, seeing as he had never been to a drive though. As he had never done most anything a normal teenager had done. Dean figured the family was just really religious or something. 

After some thorough scanning of the Happy Clown menu, Castiel had decided on the chocolate Happy Clownshake, in addition to a Happy Clownburger with cheese and a side of Happy Clownfries.

“I tend to avoid clowns,” Sam had told him. “But they make good fast food!”

Dean now took another chomp on his Happy Triple Clownburger and fumed. “How did you figure that one out,” he asked Sam. “About the werewolf?”

“Oh, you’re kind of _obvious_ ,” huffed Sam.

“You are intending to slay the town’s werewolf?” asked Castiel.

“Wait, you knew about the werewolf?” asked Dean.

“Well, yes, there is only the one,” Castiel related. “In the immediate vicinity that is.”

“And, you and your brothers didn’t do anything about it?” asked Dean.

Castiel brushed his tangled hair out of his eyes and gave Dean a curious look. “What would we do?”

“Well, I dunno,” grumbled Dean. “Maybe use your magical angel mojo to stop him attacking innocent citizens?”

“Magic angel…? We are messengers of the Lord, not warriors,” said Castiel.

“Then what do you all got those cool swords for?”

“Oh. That,” said Castiel, taking a considered slurp. “You know, this beverage is quite tasty and refreshing. Are real clowns used in its composition?”

“We’ll have you do a commercial. What’s up with the sword, Cas?” pressed Dean.

“He’s got a sword?” asked a wide-eyed Sam.

“Yeah, he’s got an angel sword.”

Cas got one of those far off looks Dean was rapidly getting used to. “If I assist you in this endeavor, Dean,” asked Castiel, “will that count towards what you consider to be my obligations in this matter?”

“You don’t have to help,” said Dean. “I got this,” he added confidently.

“As with the vampires?” asked Castiel, with just a twinge too much innocence to his tone.

“Yes he does have to help!” insisted Sam. “He’s got your back! And I’m coming too!”

“Sammy…. Good God. Look, if I take Cas along, will you at least sit this one out?” pleaded Dean, thinking of his upcoming execution at the hands of John Winchester for putting his younger brother in jeopardy.

“I will…. I will be Dean’s wing man!” said Castiel.

Dean and Sam stared. “Dude, did you just make a joke?” asked Dean.

“Yes. At least, I think so?”

“Yeah, actually. That was pretty good,” said Dean.

“Hey, what’s with the welcoming party?” said Sam, pointing up ahead.

Dean looked ahead in some surprise. He had been giving Castiel a ride home fairly often these days, but at no time had he ever encountered another person at his house. This evening, however, Raphael was waiting outside, arms crossed, looking like a big douche bag. 

Dean frowned, glad he hadn’t picked up beer tonight. Still, it wasn’t late, so he was not exactly sure what the issue might be. He looked at Castiel, who shrugged.

Signaling Sam to stay in the back seat, Dean stopped the car and got out along with Castiel, who was still sipping contentedly at his milkshake and clutching his somewhat greasy bag of Happy Clown delicacies.

“Hello, Raphael,” said Castiel. “We went to a drive through! Would you like to try a Happy Clownfry?”

“Michael is coming home for dinner on Sunday,” said Raphael

“Oh,” said Castiel, who suddenly looked as if his milkshake no longer tasted refreshing.

“You will join us for dinner, Dean Winchester,” Raphael told Dean.

With an effort, Dean stifled the snotty remark that was on the tip of his tongue. Raph was being a jerk, but, damn, he really didn’t want to mess up an opportunity for dinner with this weird ass family of alleged angels.

“OK. Sure. What time?” said Dean.

“8 pm. Sharp,” ordered Raphael.

“Cool. See you then,” said Dean. And then with a nod at a now glum Castiel (who appeared to have an aversion for saying goodbye) he got back in the Impala and drove off.

“You’re gonna have dinner with the angel brothers?” squealed Sam, who was so excited he nearly fell headfirst into the front seat while he was wriggling up.

“Watch it!” said Dean.

“I wanna go!”

“Not this time, Sammy.”

“Awwwwwww!”

“Seatbelt! Look, I’ll put in a good word for you, I promise. But I think maybe Cas doesn’t get along with his brothers so well. So it might be kind of tense. You know, like when we had that Thanksgiving with mom’s relatives?”

Sam nodded grimly. Their cousins, who themselves came from a long line of hunters, were evidently absolutely convinced that John Winchester had been possessed by some sort of demon, and thus a Thanksgiving that consisted of rather a lot of arguing and splashing holy water. Sam had actually liked the holy water fights, but like Dean disliked the bickering.

 

Four beings, who for all appearances were teenaged boys, gathered around the dinner table.

“Michael will be here on Sunday, so I want us to be on our best behavior,” Raphael was saying. He frowned and swatted away a psychedelic butterfly. “Gabriel!”

“Yes, brother?” asked Gabriel, who was happily creating the day glo butterflies.

“None of your nonsense,” scolded Raphael. “Michael will clip your wings!”

“Oh, not literally,” sighed Gabriel, snapping and banishing the ghostly insects.

“Yes. Literally. And Balthazar, could you ease up on the cigarettes? Just for the day? Michael can smell smoke from twenty miles away!”

“If Michael is coming, I’ll desperately need a fucking smoke,” pleaded Balthazar.

“And pleeeease get a haircut, Castiel,” continued Raphael.

Castiel glared through tangled bangs. “I do not need a haircut. This is...”

“Yes, only your earthly vessel. I know, I know. Your earthly vessel needs a damn haircut. Balthazar? Can you see to it?”

“I can't see through the hair,” laughed Balthazar, putting his hand through Castiel's hair. “You look a sheepdog, dear.”

“And kindly make sure your human … friend knows we dress for dinner around here,” scolded Raphael.

Castiel blinked. “You are afraid he might show up naked?” 

Gabriel and Balthazar both burst out laughing. Castiel almost smiled.

Raphael stood and leaned over, close to Castiel. “You are spending altogether too much time among humans, brother.” And then he turned and strode out.

“Well, don't go away mad,” chuckled Balthazar, who quite suddenly had a lit cigarette in his hand.

“Just go away,” chimed in Gabriel, who let forth with some florescent lightning bugs.

“I liked him better before he declared himself our foster daddy,” sighed Balthazar.

“I do not want a haircut,” grumbled Castiel.

“I could zap it for you!” grinned Gabriel. 

Castiel glowered. “I still have burns on my scalp from the last time you cut my hair,” he grumbled.

“You would look great with a Mohawk. Maybe with little butterflies in it,” said Gabriel, waving his hand as if styling Castiel’s hair.

Balthazar sighed. “Gabriel, though we all marvel at your creativity, I don’t think Raphael was kidding about the wing clipping.” Gabriel glared. “What about this?” Balthazar asked Castiel. “How about you ask your human friend where he goes to get his hair cut? You know, a human barber?”

“Dean’s barber?” said Castiel, who seemed stunned at the sheer awesomeness of the suggestion.

“Yeah, just ask your _boyfriend_ ,” grinned Gabriel.

Castiel was up like a shot, but Balthazar had ahold of Castiel's right hand. “Gabriel,” said Balthazar, “kindly make like a tree, dear, and leave.” 

And Gabriel was no longer there.

“I will take off all of his hair. And his scalp as well,” threatened Castiel.

“I am going to tell you a story now,” said Balthazar, leaning back and taking a long drag from his cigarette. “About a little boy and a little girl.”

“Why do I need to hear this now?” grumbled Castiel.

“You will sit, and listen now. Because I asked you very politely. Now, Sigyn was her name. I remember that well. She had blonde hair. And blue eyes, like yours, only more the color of the sky on a summer morning. They had both just started junior high, the both of them. They would hold hands in the lunchroom.”

“Yes. Very cute,” grumbled Castiel, who obviously did not find it so. He sighed. “So. What happened?”

“One day, Michael went to school. A few days later, Sigyn was withdrawn from the school. Her parents moved her out of town, leaving no forwarding address.”

Castiel stared. “Michael would…? Why would he…?” And then, plaintively, “Would they do that to Dean?”

Balthazar smirked. “I doubt Michael would have as much luck with your friend. Mmm, I may be wrong. At any rate, I think you know the name of the boy? And why he might not be pleased about your new friend?”

“That’s not excuse to be … a fart knocker!” said Castiel, coming up with one of Sam’s current favorite appellations.

“No, it isn’t. But I think, between you and me, one reason for Michael’s visit is to get Gabriel in hand. He hasn’t been doing well in school recently, and won’t listen to Raphael about it.”

“Yes, you mentioned this,” said Castiel, who was honestly surprised Balthazar had chosen to share this with him.

“Yes, it’s possible even for Gabriel to screw off enough to fail.” He flicked ashes from his cigarette. And then he waved his hand, and cigarette, smoke, ashes and all disappeared. 

 

“DEEEEEAN! CAS IS HERE!”

“Yeah, I can hear you Sammy,” said Dean, not taking his eyes off the ceramic crucible he was holding, slowly pouring the melted metal into the mold. He became aware of another presence out in back of the house, and saw out of the corner of his eye something that looked like it might be the world’s ugliest silver gravy boat.

“You’re sure this won’t be missed?” asked Dean, carefully setting down the hot crucible and taking off his welding mask. He finally looked up. And gawped.

“Yes, I am sure,” said Castiel. Cas had evidently taken his advice and headed down to Hair Today for a cheap haircut. The change was astonishing: instead of a cascade of hair, he was now left with a still tangled thatch that was mostly confined to the top of his head. 

It threw Dean for a loop: if you could describe a guy as “beautiful,” then Cas would probably qualify. With the milky skin and wide blue eyes, he really looked like one of those old Italian paintings of an angel. 

Dean felt a little woozy. He told himself it was from the heat of the crucible. “Um. Hey, you got your hair cut,” was all he said.

Cas self-consciously put a hand through what was left of his hair. “I feel stupid. Like a stupid person.”

“Aw, come on, Cas, none of that! Next you’re gonna start telling me your ass is fat.”

Castiel looked back. “Is my ass fat? Maybe I have eaten too much pizza and Clownfries of late.”

“You got the silver bullets?” asked Sam breathlessly as he ran out onto the back patio.

“You finished your report?” asked Dean.

“I finished your report,” said Sam, holding up a sheaf of papers.

“Oh. Uh, thanks,” said Dean, grabbing the report. “So, we'll make a shitload of silver bullets, and then we'll go kick the ass of that werewolf!”

“What if the werewolf has a fat ass?” inquired Castiel.

Sam and Dean both quieted. “That's a joke, right?” asked Dean.

Castiel almost smiled.

 

Dean was surprised to see a couple of cars parked discreetly to the side in the driveway of the house he was already mentally calling the Haunted Mansion when he pulled up Sunday at eight. They were mid-priced sort of sedans, so he guessed it might be servants. He rang the doorbell, and was frankly relieved to be greeted by Balthazar rather than Raph or Michael.

“Dean Winchester, how lovely!” said the graceful angel, beckoning him in. Balthazar looked pretty snappy in his suit, like Dean Martin or some cool Sixties guy holding a martini. Dean looked around and was glad he and Sammy had decided at the last minute that he should put on a tie. He could see why Cas had said that one ugly silver gravy boat would never be missed. This place looked more like a museum than a place anyone actually lived: there were expensive-looking knick knacks everywhere. He was astonished that so many boys had grown up here. Life must have been a litany of “Be careful,” and “Don’t touch that.” Then he remembered he had never heard word of any parents in the vicinity.

“Um, would you mind if I…?” asked Balthazar. Dean was called out of his reverie. Balthazar was pointing at his tie, which he and Sammy had knotted after consulting a couple of how to sites on the internet. 

“Oh, yeah, knock yourself out,” said Dean gratefully. Balthazar’s skilled hands had the tie unfastened and into a much neater knot in mere seconds. “Hey, thanks!” said Dean, regarding himself in the mirror. Sometimes it was damned annoying not to have a dad handy.

“Dean! You came!”

Dean grinned over at Castiel, who had not even bothered to knot his own tie. It trailed down his rumpled collar. “Sure, dude. Wouldn’t miss it,” said Dean.

“Come on Cassie, chin up,” urged Balthazar. Dean wondered for a moment if Cas was sad, but Balthy literally wanted him to look up so he could tie Cas’ tie for him. 

“I wish we could have had this suit altered in time,” fussed Balthazar, straightening Castiel's lapels, “though at least the tie brings out your eyes.”

Dean checked out Castiel. He thought his friend hadn’t done too badly this time: the suit very nearly fit him. Though it did look like something your parents would tell you you’d grow into. Not that any of the present parties had parents.

“Is your pet human here, Cassie?” came a familiar voice.

“Shut up, Gabriel,” grumbled Castiel.

“What the hell,” said Dean, looking around for the source of the voice: he recognized Garbiel, the guy from his history class with Mrs. Walsh. “Wait! Why is your brother walking on the ceiling?”

“Because he is a stupid person,” said Castiel.

“Hey, isn't anyone gonna introduce me?” giggled Gabriel, who was indeed standing up on the ceiling, looking expectant.

“Not until you come down and start acting like a mature individual,” scolded Balthazar. “Just ignore him,” he told Dean, physically turning Castiel around and starting to march him the opposite way down the corridor.

“How the heck does he do that?” asked Dean.

“Not well in fact,” said Balthazar.

“Especially if he attempts to walk,” added Castiel.

There was suddenly a loud thump in back of them and a shout of, “Owwwww! My head!”

“Not well at all,” smiled Balthazar, who shared a smile with Castiel.

“Is this circus act ready for dinner?” came a voice from the dining room. 

Dean stepped into the dining room along with Cas and Balthazar, with Gabe (who was still moaning and rubbing his head) bringing up the rear. It was just what Dean had expected, only more so. The dining room table was just ridiculously big: you must have had to use a megaphone to shout down from one end to the other. And each place was set with more silverware than Dean generally used in a month. He figured he was pretty much fated to do something horrible like use the wrong fork at some point in the evening. 

Raphael was standing by the chair up at the head, so the four boys went to sit near that end, Balthazar and Gabriel on one side, Dean and Cas on the other. Dean maneuvered to sit opposite of Balthazar, hoping maybe he could scope him out to see which goddam fork you were supposed to be using. And he didn't want to sit across from Gabe, in case the dude kicked under the table. Or worse.

“Dean Winchester,” said Raphael, holding out his hand. His suit, Dean noticed, fit absolutely perfectly. Only the effect on him was more like a federal agent than a member of the rat pack. “I think perhaps we got off on the wrong foot,” Raphael continued as Dean took his hand.

“Hey, bygones,” shrugged Dean. What the hell, it wasn't as if he and Sammy had a ton of friends in town.

Raphael motioned for them to sit, and a silent servant came out with a bottle of wine. Dean stayed quiet, and was fairly pleased to see that everybody got a hit of red wine. He knew shit about wines, but this was turning into a sort of cool evening. He noted with interest that Castiel, who seemed to marvel over the beers “James Hetfield” bought for them, expertly swished around the wine glass and took a sniff before he drank. 

“You're a wine connoisseur, Cas?” he couldn't help asking.

Castiel quietly picked up Dean's wine glass and held it in two hands, swirling it around. “This oxygenates it and warms it from the cellar. It makes it easier to pick up the scents,” he explained, tipping it over so Dean could take a whiff. Dean leaned in, closed his eyes, and sniffed.

“Hey. Licorice?” asked Dean, who was immediately convinced he had said something dumb.

“Yes, this one has a bouquet of licorice!” said Castiel approvingly. 

Dean smiled at his friend as Cas sat his wine glass down. He didn't seem interested in food, but he was a wine critic? Still, it was nice to see him smile. 

“Or you can aerate it like this!” said Gabriel, who pointed to his own glass. It started to bubble.

“Oh, like adding Mentos,” smiled Dean.

“I don't need Mentos!” bragged Gabriel.

“This is how he uses the Lord's grace,” sighed Raphael.

“If our Father didn't want us to make our wine fizz, why did he give me grace?” asked Gabriel, as the wine continued to get more and more bubbly.

“Well, that is a sound theological question,” said Balthazar. “Oh! Gabriel! Careful!”

Gabriel's wine very quickly went from fizzy to explosive. Dean ducked, and when he looked up, Gabriel was sitting there, his entire front coated in a layer of red wine. Balthazar had evidently teleported (or whatever angel's did) to a safe distance behind Raphael's chair.

Dean just couldn't help it: it was probably the surprised look on Gabriel face. He started to laugh, and so did Balthazar. 

Castiel, looking curious, leaned over and caught a drop coming from Gabriel's chin on his finger. He put the finger in his mouth. “Yes, still the distinctive bouquet of licorice,” he said.

Dean could have sworn he caught Raph cracking a smile just then.

“What the blazes is going on here?” 

All five boys turned to the stern sound of Michael's voice. “Oh, Michael,” said Raphael, standing up. “Gabriel just had a little … spill.”

“None of your nonsense at the dinner table, Gabriel,” scolded Michael, striding confidently up to the head of the table. He flicked a finger at Gabriel, and the dripping wine was suddenly cleaned up. Michael then glared down at Raphael. 

“We were just having a glass of wine before dinner,” said Raphael. “Please, sit down, Michael,” he continued, pointing down to an emply place setting. Michael continued to glare. “Oh,” said a deflated Raphael, who suddenly got it. He grabbed his wine glass and then scurried down to sit on the other side of Dean. Michael seated himself in Raphael's place, at the head of the table, like a king grandly lowering himself into a throne. 

Dean continued to regard Michael. The dark hair and dark eyes reminded him of someone, now more than ever. But he just couldn't place the face.

“Under aged drinking,” said Michael, reaching for Castiel's glass. “I am not certain I approve.”

Castiel put a protective hand over his own glass, stopping Michael. “The Lord our Father turned water into wine. It is a sacrament,” he said, returning Michael's glare.

They locked eyes and had a small stare down, Castiel’s eyes two dark sapphires. Michael lost. “Well, just a glass won't hurt I suppose,” he said, looking away.

 _Raphael 0, Castiel 1_ , thought Dean, impressed that his friend would stand up to his older brother like that when Raphael evidently didn’t have the balls.

“Dean Winchester. It is good of you to join us,” continued Michael, now interlacing his fingers like some kind of super villain. Dean suddenly had a vision of Michael petting a big white cat. He tried to suppress the smile.

“Yeah. Thanks for inviting me,” he said evenly, noticing how the table had quieted. Everyone but Cas is petrified of this guy, thought Dean.

“We have a few small matters to get out of the way before our meal tonight,” Michael announced. “Gabriel, your grades are still slipping.”

“Do we gotta discuss this now?” whined Gabriel, irritably twisting the stem on his now empty wine glass.

“Yes. Here. And now. You already have a failing grade in History.”

“Old lady Walsh is a real hard ass,” Gabriel complained.

“Oh yeah. I have her third period too,” said Dean. “She uses any excuse to give you detention.”

“I've heard you've made rather a career of detention, Mr. Winchester,” said Michael, arching an eyebrow.

Cas cast another withering glance at Michael, but Dean just shrugged. “Yeah, it was bad for me at first, but it's getting better.” _Since Sammy is helping with my papers_ , he thought.

“We need you to keep your grades up, Gabriel, if you're going to get into a good college,” blathered Michael.

“I'm not sure I wanna go to college,” said Gabriel. “Look, Mike, I'm bored in school as it is.”

“College isn't for everybody,” said Dean, sipping his wine. He noticed Cas was looking at him curiously. 

“You don't think you'll go, Dean?” asked Castiel quietly.

“I doubt it. I bet Sammy will go. He's the brains of the family.”

“You shouldn't sell yourself short,” Castiel told him sincerely. Dean smiled.

“In this household, we are expected to go to college,” Michael told Dean.

“Man, that shit just isn't for me,” said Gabriel.

“We could clip your wings young man. Lucifer and I have discussed it.” Dean shivered involuntarily. It was like that first day, at the lockers. There was something in Michael’s tone that just gave him the creeps. Dean wasn’t overly fond of Gabriel, but he felt sorry for him now. Evidently, they meant to ground him somehow, but he seemed a bit terrified.

“Wait, you discussed this with _Lucifer_ , Michael?” asked Raphael. “You hadn’t brought it up with me!”

“Balthazar,” said Michael, completely ignoring Raphael’s question.

“You'll have no complaints about my grades,” said Balthazar, who nevertheless looked nervous.

“All those theater classes?”

“I don't want to turn into a boring old fart. Not like some people,” Balthazar told him.

“Acting is not a career,” said Michael.

“Oh yeah? I think George Clooney would disagree!,” said Gabriel.

“Or Cary Grant,” said Cas.

“Or Clint Eastwood!” said Dean.

“Johnny Depp,” smiled Balthazar.

“Yes, but they are the exceptions,” said Michael, who appeared to think this was the end of it.

“Robert Downey Jr.,” snarled Raphael.

Sparing a glare at Raphael, Michael turned back to Balthazar. “And you need to stop smoking. Immediately.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “I'm immortal! What harm could it fucking do me?”

“Watch the mouth, Balthazar.”

“You didn't answer his question,” groused Raphael.

“Raphael,” said Michael, now turning toward Raphael, who had downed his entire glass of wine and was pouring himself another. “I haven't seen your Yale application.”

“I'm rethinking … applying to Yale,” Raphael told his wine glass.

“You are what?”

“I don't think I want to go to law school,” said Raphael.

“When did you make this decision?”

“You're already pre-law, Michael. I would prefer … a liberal arts college.”

“So,” said Michael, interlacing his fingers again, “since I have departed, you no longer care about this family?”

Oh, low blow, thought Dean, who was suddenly grateful that he didn’t have Sunday dinner with his own family.

“I care about the family,” said Raphael. 

“I’d like to see that application. This week,” said Michael. “And now, lastly, but not least, Castiel. About the incident of bullying.”

Dean looked over to Castiel in surprise. “Dude,” he said, holding Castiel’s shoulder. He hadn’t heard anything about it. He frowned, thinking of the terrible revenge he would extract on anyone who tried laying a hand on his friend.

Cas didn’t look at him, but there seemed to be something brewing, as if he were gathering himself for some kind of tirade. Michael definitely deserved it, Dean thought. What a dick.

“What about it?” growled Castiel. Dean took his hand off Cas’ shoulder. He appeared to be trembling with a quiet rage.

“The junior high has received a complaint from the family of Curtis Westfall. They say you behaved in a threatening manner towards him. Castiel, you know what we’ve said in the past about this kind of behavior.”

“Curtis Westfall?” said Dean. “That kid is a bully! He was threatening my little brother.” Although Sam no longer talked about the threats, Dean recalled. 

“I came upon Curtis Westfall and two associates,” said Castiel, his voice low and dangerous. “They were in the process of assaulting Dean’s brother, Sam, whom I had previously agreed to take under my protection. I had a brief discussion with Curtis, and strongly urged him to modify his behavior.”

“I heard the little shit peed his pants!” laughed Gabriel. “Good one, Cassie.”

Dean gawped. “Cas. Sam never told me.”

“You asked me to conduct him in safety, and that is what I did,” said Castiel. “There was no need for further discussion.”

“Castiel, that is not the way this family conducts itself! We are not … thugs!” lectured Michael.

“If we are not supposed to be active agents … why do we carry swords?” asked Castiel, flicking his eyes at Dean.

“It’s a good question,” smiled Balthazar.

“Castiel,” said Michael, eyes boring into his brother, who did not blink. “We have discussed this behavior before. I thought you, of all my brothers, would understand what is expected of you.”

“I do not serve you, Michael. Nor do I serve this family. I am the servant of the Lord, my Father,” said Castiel.

Dean took another sip of his wine, wondering if the angel swords were going to come out soon. He didn’t really envy Michael right now: when Castiel got like this, he was like a force of nature. 

“Michael,” tried Balthazar, “Castiel did what he felt was right.”

“I speak for the Lord our Father,” said Michael, glowering at Castiel. “I am the oldest.”

“No you’re not,” said Raphael, swirling his wine, down at the far end of the table. “Or have you forgotten already?”

“Look, Mike,” said Dean, who thought he should say something despite the poor chance of success. “Cas wasn’t the bully here. I don’t care what those parents said. Curtis and his friends had been picking on my little brother, and Cas helped. When nobody else would! I mean, we barely know each other, and he’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had!”

Dean glanced at Cas, who was now staring at him. He nodded at Cas. Castiel’s expression changed, and that amazing almost-smile flickered into a too-brief, lovely smile. Dean smiled back. And maybe he swooned. Just a little.

“Castiel,” intoned Michael. “I think we need to reevaluate how much time you are spending among … human acquaintances these days. While it is admirable in its way that you take interest in their … passing fancies, ours is not to wallow in their trivialities.”

“Then what the fuck is ours to do?” snorted Gabriel. “Cas is right! I got a sword, but I’m supposed to drag my ass to detention because Mrs. Walsh is a dried up old prune.”

“Castiel, you know what we wish for you,” said Michael.

“I know very well what you wish,” said Castiel. “You expect me to pass my time in the library, isolating myself from the injustices done, closing my eyes to the indignities suffered by the righteous. I feel I can do this no longer.”

“Castiel, you have been commanded to keep a respectful distance from humans! They are a corrupting influence!”

“Sure, that’s what’s cool about them,” grinned Gabriel. But Castiel was on his feet.

“You are speaking derisively about humans, when there is one in our midst, and not only that, an honored guest at this table! This is not an appropriate manner in which to treat people in our home,” Castiel told Michael. “Dean. Let us go. We will get a nice Clownburger with Clownfries for dinner.”

“Can I come with?” asked Gabriel, who had bounced up as well.

“Yes, I think I have had just about my share as well,” said Balthazar.

Dean was just wondering how many angels would fit in an Impala (was this an existential question? Sammy would know) when yet another person showed up in the dining room.

“Hey, you guys don’t all have to get up on my account!” said the pleasant-looking, sandy-haired guy. He wore a friendly grin that Dean noticed didn’t quite make it up to his eyes. Since he didn’t look anything like any of the other guys, Dean immediately assumed he must be another Malakhim brother.

“Lucifer!” shouted Gabriel, who practically leapt into his arms.

“Hey, little bro,” said Lucifer. Evidently he hadn’t gotten the memo about the whole dressing for dinner thing, as he was casually dressed in camo pants, a khaki shirt with a red silk scarf, and (though Dean didn’t quite believe it) a black beret. Lucifer was also trying to grow a beard, and not having a whole lot of success. 

The rest of the table had risen to greet the newcomer, but Dean noticed Cas seemed to bristle and hold back. He wasn’t exactly sure what the deal was, but he followed Cas’ lead and kept back too.

“Hey, little Cassie! You must have grown a foot since I saw you last!” said Lucifer warmly as Castiel cautiously approached him. Lucifer doffed his beret and playfully placed it on Castiel’s head, and in return received a vengeful glower from Castiel.

“This is my friend, Dean,” said Castiel, who had planted himself protectively in front of Dean, and made absolutely no effort to get out of the way, although he had immediately tugged off the beret and tossed it on the table.

“Always nice to meet one of the famous Winchesters,” grinned Lucifer, nodding at Dean.

“Uh, likewise,” said Dean, who was more than a little confused that Lucifer seemed to know him.

“We had been going through a few … family matters,” Michael told Lucifer as they all seated themselves.

“Aw, no wonder the guys are looking so darned hungry! Why don’t we table it, Mike, and get some grub?” asked Lucifer.

“Yeah, we want grub!” echoed Gabriel.

Michael sighed and signaled a servant. Though Dean was a bit chary about Lucifer (independent of Cas’ standoffishness, he just had a bad feeling about the guy) he had to admit, getting to dinner was a great suggestion, and the mood swiftly improved. As Dean had thought, Balthazar had the whole “which fork for is which weird food item” thing down, and was actually pretty cool, once he noticed Dean watching him, to point out how you opened an oyster and that sort of thing. 

Cas was just as finicky about his food here as he always was with Sam and Dean, and here he had the added annoyance of Gabriel (who turned out to be a little garbage gut) constantly asking if he was going to finish this or that course. Cas, as if in retaliation, began offering bites instead to Dean, who politely refused. Indeed, though Dean, like most every teenage boy, was almost constantly hungry, after a never ending array of courses he was actually starting to feel quite stuffed.

“C’mon Cas,” he urged at one point, turning away these really delicious roast potatoes that had garlic and something else thrown in with them. “You need to bulk up if you’re gonna go hunt werewolves with me.”

In the awkward silence that followed, Dean had time to quickly contemplate how many glasses of wine he had downed. At least one too many, he thought. Oops.

“So, your family has made a career of the supernatural, Dean?” a smiling Lucifer inquired 

“I dunno if you’d call it a career, exactly,” said Dean. “The benefits package ain’t exactly great.”

“No splendid retirement portfolio?” asked Balthazar, who was waving off yet another course of salmon and patting his stomach.

“Most folks in my profession don’t, uh, get a chance to retire,” Dean answered honestly.

“Why would anyone do something so dumb?” asked Gabriel.

“Why would one not, if one were called by the Lord, our Father,” said Castiel.

“You think it is a calling, Dean?” asked Balthazar.

“Yeah, you could say that,” said Dean.

“It could be a calling, but I doubt our Father had anything to do with it,” mused Lucifer, who was delicately buttering another dinner role.

“Oh. And when did you last speak to Him?” inquired Castiel.

Lucifer shot an unguarded nasty glance at Castiel. It made Dean’s blood run cold. “Just voicing an opinion,” Lucifer continued as he mastered himself. “One could look at what the Winchesters do as interfering with a natural ecological system.”

“An ecosystem? What kind of ecosystem has vampires?” asked Dean, who could not be persuaded by any means that vampires had any utility beyond showing up at the end of a pointed wooden stake.

“Maybe they take a few unlucky humans, here and there,” said Lucifer.

“Take ‘em?” asked Dean. “Have you actually seen somebody that’s been chewed by a werewolf? It’s ain’t pretty.”

“I simply mean,” said Lucifer, “you must admit, Dean, that humans have caused extensive damage to this planet! Now, think. Perhaps it is part of our Father’s plan that a few are occasionally … done away with.”

“But it ain’t the evil polluters and that kind who get grabbed by a werewolf or a vampire or a wendigo or whatever,” Dean protested. “There’s no connection. It’s just poor dumb folks who stumble into the path. Kids, sometimes. Or people with families. How can you say that’s fair?”

“One does not question our Father’s plan,” chimed in Michael from the head of the table.

“What plan?” slurred Raphael, who had been downing rather a lot of wine. “Our Father’s been dead for years.”

Talk about a conversation stopper. The entire table, including Dean, was now staring – in shock or horror or amusement or curiosity or just plain what the fuck – at Raphael.

“Oh, don’t pretend I’m saying what you don’t all think,” said Raphael, his dark eyes flashing. 

“Now, Raphael, you don’t have any proof of that,” said Balthazar.

“What proof do you have? In fact, isn’t the burden of proof on you, brother?” asked Raphael.

“He abides,” said Castiel. “For He is eternal.”

“So our father is The Dude,” said Raphael, throwing up his hands.

Castiel looked confused, but Dean snorted with laughter. That was one of his favorite movies. Raphael was actually kinda cool when he had a few drinks in him. 

 

They had somehow all hauled themselves up from the table and waddled into another room at the promise of cake. Dean looked around and wondered if this place was what snooty people called a sitting room. 

There was a platter with a chocolate cake on the coffee table in the center, as well as a coffee and yet more strong, sweet alcohol Gabriel called a digestif. The coffee was accompanied by a jillion little spoons, a sugar bowl and a container of what Dean was sure must be real live cream and not Coffeemate. 

He helped himself to a small slice of cake, but a big cup of coffee to fortify him for the drive home.

“We have a few things to discuss, so we’ll say goodnight,” said Michael, who let Lucifer into a nearby room, and then shut the door on poor Raphael, who was standing expectantly in the threshold.

“Good riddance, Mike,” grumbled Gabriel.

Balthazar, who had poured himself a bit of the digestif, said something in what sounded the strange language he had briefly spoken the other day, and Castiel briefly replied in kind. Then he downed a shot.

“That’s Enochian, right?” Dean asked Cas.

Cas nodded. “It is something like the human expression, ‘Cheers,’ I suppose,” he said, looking thoughtful.

“It’s … really beautiful,” said Dean. Because, damn, it was. And when Cas spoke it…. Well, it was weird, but it was pretty hot. 

“You are aware, Michael wants us to speak English in this household,” Raphael sighed. He sat down heavily near the boys and helped himself to some of the digestif.

“Behold the angel Raphael,” said Balthazar. “Once, not so very long ago, my favorite brother.”

Raphael looked briefly annoyed, but also defeated.

“Raphael is our family nihilist,” continued Balhtazar. “He used to favor black turtlenecks, and composed reprehensible poetry.”

“I still write!” said Raphael.

“I’m glad,” said Balthatzar, who sounded sincere.

“Ya know,” said Dean, “there’s a couple of café’s around here, where the college kids hang out. They do poetry readings, that kinda thing. Chicks love that shit,” he added.

Raphael, who had looked momentarily interested, scoffed, “That’s not why I write poetry.”

“Why the hell else would you write that crap?” asked Gabriel, who was somehow managing to eat a huge piece of chocolate cake while sitting on the couch upside-down. Dean wondered if angels had the equivalent of Ritalin.

“I am expressing an aesthetic sensibility,” grumbled Raphael, downing his drink.

“Ya know, Raph, I dunno if liquor has different effects on angels than other guys, but if you got class tomorrow morning, you might wanna knock it off with that stuff,” said Dean.

Raphael looked up at him, a great sadness in his dark eyes. Somehow, even though he was only couple years older than dean, there seemed an ancientness to those eyes. “When you're right,” he said, picking up a coffee cup, “you're right.”

“Are you OK, man?” asked Dean.

“I remember, you know,” said Raphael quietly.

“Oh, here it comes,” whined Gabriel.

“Remember what?” asked Dean.

“My life before. Our lives. Before our Father stuck us here.”

“Raphael feels that he senses what went on before our, ahem, earthly reincarnation,” Balthazar explained.

“We were infinite beings. And now … homeroom. With Mrs. Welch,” snarked Gabriel, who added a burp.

“And your dad just took off?” asked Dean, who felt he could relate, somehow, to the situation.

“I barely remember Him. Just a presence,” said Balthazar. “I think Cassie doesn't even remember. He was too young.”

“But I know Him. Regardless,” said Castiel.

“I no longer feel it,” said Raphael. “He's gone. Gone from us.”

“Well, you know, our dad takes off. He's done it to us his whole life. And sometimes it feels pretty shitty,” said Dean. “But,” he continued, looking at Castiel. “He always comes back for us. Somehow.”

 

Castiel helped Dean situate several Tupperware containers in the passenger seat of the Impala. After Dean had thought to request a single slice of cake to bring home to Sam, Balthazar had marshaled the kitchen to produce something like a sixteen course meal of their leftovers. It did not good to refuse, so Dean accepted it. This would be enough food for a week, and he was quite honestly glad for the change from pizza and burgers. 

Dean shut the door, having finally convinced himself none of it was going to drip on Baby’s floorboards. He shot a glance at the Toyota that had parked next to him. It had California plates.

“Uh. The Prius?” he asked.

“Lucifer’s,” said Castiel.

“But, I thought you dudes didn’t need to drive?”

Castiel frowned, and Dean saw this was probably a topic for another time. 

“Anyway. Thank everybody again for inviting me,” said Dean. “It was sure … interesting.”

Castiel looked awkward. “I sincerely hope … you are still my friend?”

“Oh, hell yes!” said Dean. Now it was his turn to be awkward. “Cas. What you did for Sammy….”

“Only what was right,” said Castiel, who seemed to brook no more discussion of it.

Dean wished for a moment he was someone like Balthazar, who could come up with pretty words. But he was just Dean Winchester, so instead, he reached over and pulled a very surprised Castiel into a big bear hug.

“Just. Thanks,” said Dean, slapping Cas’ back and releasing him. Castiel stared at him, open-mouthed. “You’re a good friend. Now, you wanna go mess up some werewolves?” he winked.

“Oh, yes. That will be a pleasure,” said Castiel, who still seemed stunned.

Dean jumped in his car and, with a final wave, started to drive home. His mind raced with what he was going to tell Sammy. Even though the little brat was supposed to have gone to bed hours ago, Dean knew damn well he’d be up and waiting for him. He grinned, grateful of someone to talk to.

 

Castiel floated back into his living room and alit on one of the couches.

“What’s up with you, weirdo?” asked Gabriel.

“Dean just pulled me into a warm embrace and declared me his friend,” sighed Castiel.

“How warm was the embrace?” asked Gabriel, who was suddenly sitting right next to Cas.

Castiel glowered. “Go walk on the ceiling, Gabriel,” he said.

“And for heaven's sake, Gabriel, if you're going to do it, do it right,” sighed Balthazar.

“What, you think you could do better I suppose,” grumbled Gabriel, who was not happy to be the object of fun.

Balthazar and Raphael suddenly exchanged a glance. Raphael actually smiled. 

Balthazar snapped his fingers, and he was up on the ceiling. And then, hand to his hip, he was sashaying down, pausing at the wall to do a little supermodel-worthy vamping.

Gabriel actually let out a small cry. “That's amazing! That's amazing! That's fucking amazing!”

Balthazar was down, sitting on the couch, drink in his hand.

“How did you do that?” asked Gabriel.

“Well, you just have to have a bit of flair,” said Balthazar, flicking an imaginary dust speck from his trousers. 

Castiel sat back in silence, wishing for all the world that he would fledge. He wanted to dance on the ceiling.

He wanted to dance on the ceiling … with Dean.


	4. Reliquary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hold scavenger hunt.

**Title:** Reliquary (Flight Club, Chapter 4 of 8)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death  
 **Warnings:** Cursing.   
**Word Count:** 38,000 total  
 **Summary:** John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.  
 **Notes:** This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.) 

 

 _So_ , thought Dean dryly, _here I am nesting with my best buddy, the angel of the Lord._

Indeed, both boys were perched up in a tree. Down below a raw, bloody roast dangled from a low branch. Dean knew werewolves preferred live prey, but he had also heard, if they got hungry enough, they’d go ahead and snag some raw meat. And this was smack dab in the middle of the alleged werewolf’s usual hunting grounds.

Dean stifled a yawn and glanced over at Cas, who was staring downwards, immovable as a statue. Dean had to admit, Cas appeared pretty natural up here. In the big overcoat he looked like some kind of bird of prey, crouching there. 

If there was one goal for the night, though Dean could scarcely admit it, it was to look cool. Ever since Cas had more or less saved his ass from those vampires, Dean had longed for his new friend to see him succeed on a hunt. After all, that’s what he did! And now, hearing Cas had also been kicking ass with Sammy’s bullies, the longing in Dean was only more pronounced. 

Dean had debriefed Sammy about the dinner at the Malakhim household, of course, in great detail, and repeatedly. But, Dean was just realizing, he had barely talked about it with Cas. Cas for his part had seemed genuinely worried that he would no longer be Dean's friend, so Dean had just mouthed some platitudes about how everyone thought their family was weird, and then they had all moved on to planning this werewolf seige. But Dean wondered: how could they be angels? Maybe they were a family of traveling magicians, or something? Or maybe tricksters? They were supposed to be able to pull off illusions like that.

Dean had forged a shitload of silver bullets, but just one gun. Cas didn't know how to operate firearms, and Dean didn't think it was safe to teach him in the short time until the full moon. Maybe they would take him out to Uncle Bobby's at some point. But meantime, he seemed to do well enough with his sword and his fists, so they would leave well enough alone. 

And besides, they had the advantage of numbers this time: two hunters, one werewolf. Everything was cake. Chocolate cake!

Well, almost everything. Dean had guzzled a couple cups of coffee before he climbed the tree, and his bladder was definitely feeling it. He looked around and saw all clear. But he didn't want to look like a dork in front of Cas. On the other hand, peeing your pants when fighting a werewolf would probably be pretty lame.

Dean paused. Was that a rustling sound?

“Cas, did you hear-?

“Yes. It sounded very like-”

“That sound Gabe makes when he winks in or out?” continued Dean. It sounded like soft wing beats. “Hey, look, I gotta take a leak, anyway,” said Dean. “Why don't I got down and take a look.”

“Take care. I will continue to keep watch from up here.”

Dean clambered down the tree and, being sure to take a careful look around first, ran a short distance away, into a copse of trees. He was immediately glad he had decided to take a break: his back teeth were swimming.

He zipped up and froze. He was sure he heard something. Or rather felt something.

Slowly, with the feeling that something was watching him, and gripping the gun, he turned.

It was on him before he could cry out. He was flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him, being throttled.

 _Not clawed_ , came a part of his brain. _Strangled._

A sound, a falling body: Cas had leapt from the tree and now a familiar sword flicked through the figure.

“Cas!” Dean choked, flailing for something in his belt.

Another flick, as the angel blade sailed right through without effect.

“Not werewolf!” Dean sputtered. His hand was on the hilt, and he flipped it to Cas. “Spirit.”

Cas grabbed the cold steel knife. One flick, and the ghost dissipated.

Cas' hand was reaching down. Dean reached out and felt himself yanked to his feet.

“Spirits?” asked Castiel. “This is not a graveyard, nor a consecrated place.”

Dean, holding his bruised throat, pointed. 

Cas whirled, and cut through two more spirits, which blinked out to the iron.

“Shit. What the-?” But then there were several more. Dean watched helplessly as Cas temporarily banished them, but then his ears picked up the sound.

“Wolf!” cried Dean.

“Get it! I'll take care of these,” said Cas.

Dean, gripping his revolver, ran back towards the tree, where indeed there was now a hairy monster clawing at their suspended raw meat.

Trying to still his beating heart, Dean aimed.

And ducked. He was nearly beheaded by another crazy raging spirit. What the fuck? What the actual fuck?

The commotion, unfortunately, alerted the wolf, which leapt at him. Dean had no time to aim, and the gun went off, wasting a bullet. Now he was on his back again, inches from the beast's fangs. He brought up his knees and kicked as hard as he could, throwing it off of him. He scrambled to his knees, aimed again, and just as it was rounding to leap, got off a clean shot to the chest.

The beast let out a gasp, and then shuddered and collapsed. Dean pushed himself to his feet and watched as slowly, the monster morphed back to a dead human. He squatted down near the body. Poor guy. He looked like some homeless dude, although that might have just been the effect of living as a werewolf, Dean didn't know. He spotted the original bite mark on the guy's neck, and self-consciously felt his own. He had come scary close to getting himself killed or were-cursed.

He heard movement. Cas had returned, looking frazzled.

“So many of them,” said Cas, handing Dean back the steel knife.

“Why so many spirits here?” asked Dean, tucking the blade back in his belt.

“His victims,” said Castiel, pointing to the body. “They dissipated quite suddenly though.”

Dean scratched his head. “Maybe when I pasted the werewolf? That released them somehow?”

“Those souls should have been reaped,” said Castiel, shaking his head. “There is something not right here!”

“Yeah, Sammy's been talking about it. Well, we need to salt and burn this guy now.”

Cas nodded, and they took a trip to the Impala's trunk. They ended up burying the guy's ashes in a shallow grave in the shade of the tree where they had been hiding. Dean yawned over the shovel, sincerely hoping this would give the poor dude some peace. It wasn't a good life, being a werewolf. He wondered again over Lucifer's odd remarks the other night.

“Cas, you know what your brother said, about us wrecking the ecosystem?”

“Lucifer,” rasped Cas.

“Is this a sore spot?” asked Dean.

Castiel looked pained. “I will try to explain. I have a gift, more so than any of my brothers. They said the first words that escaped from my lips were Enochian. Our language. It is how we talk to each other, even when we are apart. The dear language of our Father. But, maybe for this reason, I have never felt so comfortable speaking English. It is still in some ways like a foreign language to me. So I cannot make English sentences that are fair, like Balthazar or Raphael.”

“Or like Lucifer?” asked Dean.

“Lucifer. His words are graceful. But, there is poison in him, Dean.”

“Yeah, I felt that too. And what the fuck is up with the beret?”

Castiel looked at Dean, astonished. And then the almost-smile ticked briefly – ever so briefly – into the full smile category. 

Dean smiled too, thinking he could bask for a week in a smile like that. 

 

“I told you so,” said Sam. “I told you about the spirits. Didn't I?”

Castiel walked along with Sam Winchester, enjoying the light fall breeze, kicking orange and red and brown leaves that had fallen in his pathway. 

For once Dean hadn't pulled detention. He was actually at the library, frantically trying to get a report done. Castiel's features formed into a slight smile. Somehow, between himself and Sam, they were shaping Dean into a decent student. He and Sam had decided that next year they would both begin to bother Dean about attending college: maybe a community college, if that's what he felt suited him.

Cas liked conspiring with Sam. He regretted not for the first time that of all of his brothers, he didn't have a single one he felt so comfortable with. But no matter. His Father had never seen fit to give him a real little brother, so he would take Sam Winchester. 

“Cas! You're zoning again!” whined Sam.

“I'm not zoning. I'm listening to the angels talk.”

“What. Really?”

Cas smiled mysteriously. “Just thinking. You know, the problem might not lie in the spirits. Perhaps there is some issue among the reapers.”

“Reapers? You mean the bad dude with the scythe?”

“It is more complicated than that. There is more than one person who escorts souls to the afterlife. Those are the reapers. They are the children of Death, the pale rider.”

“Oh. So it's like Santa and his helpers?” asked Sam.

“I don't think I understand that reference,” said Castiel. “But I am beginning to believe, if your theory is correct, that the best place for answers would be to attempt and evocation.”

“Oooo, you mean a summoning spell?” asked Sam.

“Yes, that is correct. Yes. I have access to an Enochian text, a grimoire, and I believe we could put together the spell.”

“So, we go summon one of those reaper guys?”

“Well, no, I thought to go straight to the top. I thought to summon Death.”

Sam froze in his tracks.

“Um. If you think that's OK, Sam?” asked Castiel.

“Castiel,” said Sam. “You are like the coolest friend ever!” said Sam. “We're gonna summon Death! It will be so bitchin'!”

But as it turned out, the summoning spell was a little more difficult than Castiel had imagined. A few of the ingredients were more than a little esoteric.

“Unicorn blood? But, I thought they didn't exist!' said Sam as they sat together in the Winchester living room, playing Radioactive Zombie Town 2.

“Is that what they tell you?” wondered Castiel, not taking his eyes from the screen. Just a few more of the loathsome undead, and he would certainly meet the boss.

“Where do you get a unicorn?” asked Sam.

“You get a virgin! That's the tricky part!” laughed Gabriel.

Sam and Cas both turned around in surprise, Cas because his annoying brother annoyed him, and Sam because he wasn't used to people suddenly appearing in his living room.

“Gabriel! What are you doing here?” demanded Cas.

“You could volunteer for that, Cassie. Why do you want a unicorn, anyway?” asked Gabriel, thumbing through the hot rod magazines that were tossed on the coffee table. “Hey, where does Dean keep the good stuff.”

“Gabriel?” asked Sam.

“This is my brother Gabriel. Who was just leaving,” said Castiel.

“Hang on,” said Gabriel, who disappeared. But then he reappeared seconds later, still sitting on the couch, but this time holding a Busty Asian Beauties magazine. “Ah, under the bed. Your boyfriend is so predictable.”

“How did he do that?” asked Sam.

“Gabriel's specialty is being as irritating as possible,” said Cas.

“C'mon Cas! I'm bored,” said Gabriel, tossing down the magazine. “I went to surprise Lucy at school in Berkeley, and he just got pissy and sent me back.”

“Why would he do that?” asked Castiel, curious despite himself. He didn't much care for Lucifer, but he had always been close to Gabriel. 

Gabriel shrugged. “And maybe I could help you. You need a unicorn?”

“Unicorn blood,” said Sam, who was actually distracted from his video game.

“Oh, is that all. Mike keeps some.”

“What. Really? How do you know this?” asked Castiel.

“Balthazar says he was really into alchemy for a time in high school. Before he got sort of douchey. There's a ton of stuff still in the basement.”

“I don't like going down there,” shuddered Castiel. Sam looked at him. “Spiders,” he explained.

Gabriel grinned and disappeared. And then was back, standing over Cas, holding out his hand.

Castiel rose and tentatively held out his hand.

Into which Gabriel dropped a spider.

Giving a small cry, Cas jumped back and dropped the spider.

“Gabriel! Quit being a dick!” said Sam, who jumped up and made to stomp the spider.

“Wait,” said Gabriel. “Wait.” He bent down and picked up the spider, which he let run between his hands.

“Could you just go pop back to wherever fluffy cloud you popped out of?” groused Sam.

“What if I help you guys?” asked Gabriel, watching the spider scrabble through his hands.

“What do you want, Gabriel?” sighed Castiel.

“Cas! Just banish this dude!” said Sam.

“Oh, he couldn't do that if he wanted to,” said Gabriel.

Castiel looked at Sam, and then towards Gabriel. A slight smiled traced his features. 

“Don't send me away! Please!” said Gabriel. “I could help! Like I said.”

“What do you want, Gabriel?” Castiel repeated.

Gabriel let the spider come to rest on his hand. And then he passed his other hand over it, and it disappeared. “Just.... Tell me what you're doing. What you need it for.”

Cas and Sam exchanged a glance. Sam nodded. “We're performing an evocation.”

“Oh. What are you summoning?”

“Death.”

Gabriel blinked. “Damn, brother. You don't fuck around.” He grinned.

“Will you assist us?” asked Castiel.

Gabriel passed a hand over his hand again. Now he was holding a test tube. Castiel reached out his hand once again, and took it. There was a dark red liquid in the tube.

“Is that unicorn blood?” asked Sam.

“Yes, I believe it is,” said Castiel. “All right, so you are useful for rooting around in our basement,” he told Gabriel. “Can you do anything that's actually difficult?”

“What do you got?” said Gabriel. 

Castiel glanced at Sam again, and then went to his book bag and pulled out a crumbling old volume. He turned to where there was, oddly enough, a sticky note jammed between the pages. His finger traced down the list of ingredients, finally resting on a line of text. It was not in English.

“The bones of a … blessed … person?” read a hesitant sounding Gabriel.

“A saint's bones. In English,” said Cas.

“You don't read angel?” Sam asked Gabriel.

“How often does it come up to read ancient Enochian?” groused Gabriel. “Anyway, where would you find a saint around this shithole?”

“There is reputed to be a vast collection of holy objects in an old convent just outside of town,” said Castiel. He grabbed Sam's laptop and found the web site. “This is a web site that features pictures of abandoned places,” said Castiel. “I guess this site has been boarded up for decades, but it should be some place you'd have no problem getting into, Gabriel.”

Gabriel looked at the photos. “You have any photos of what I'm looking for?”

“Yes, there is supposed to be a fragment of a saint's thigh bone,” said Castiel. “But I don't know where it would be.”

Gabriel actually stopped to think. Which didn't happen terribly often. “It might go quicker if you guys came with,” he said.

“We could go along when you do the blinky thing?” asked Sam eagerly.

Castiel scowled. “Gabriel. You will take me along. And then bring me back?”

“Yeah, sure, of course.”

“Wait, I wanna go too,” whined Sam.

“It would go quicker with three guys,” said Gabriel.

“Gabriel,” warned Castiel.

“Come on, Cas! Don't be so fucking suspicious all the time,” pleaded Gabriel.

“You conduct yourself in a suspicious manner. All the time,” said Castiel.

Gabriel sighed. “No funny business. I wanna do this. With you guys. OK?”

Castiel looked at Sam. “Perhaps tomorrow, after school? Dean ought to be late again, finishing the report.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” said Sam.

“Oh, waitaminnit!” said Gabriel. “Are you guys telling me Dean doesn't know?”

Now Cas and Sam looked guilty. “We didn't think it was appropriate. To tell him. As of yet,” said Castiel.

“We didn't think we could get everything!” said Sam.

“And you didn't want Deano to tell you it's a dumb ass idea?” guessed Gabriel.

“It's not a dumb ass idea!” protested Castiel. “It is a smart ass idea!”

Gabriel snorted. “It's OK, Cassie. Your secret's safe with me. Hey, I like sneaky Cas! You should do bad stuff more often!”

“Speaking of bad,” said Castiel, “Gabriel, aren't you in Dean's history class.”

“Uh, yeah, so what?” muttered Gabriel.

“Wait, you would have the report too?” said Sam.

“I have it taken care of!” said Gabriel.

“Michael was concerned about your grades,” said Castiel. “I don't think he was kidding about clipping your wings.”

“Oh my god. Lucifer would never clip my wings! That's just dumb! And besides,” said Gabriel. “Like I said, I got it taken care of.”

“OK. If you say so. Then we will meet here, tomorrow, after class?” asked Castiel.

“I'll be here with feathers,” said Gabriel. “Catch you on the flipside!” And then he was gone, in a soft rustle of wings.

“So, you think your brothers are gonna bust him?” asked Sam.

“Yes. They would compromise his wings in a way that he could not use his grace for a time,” said Castiel.

“Is it really snip-snip? Like you do with a parrot?” asked Sam.

“Yes, it is really snip-snip,” said Castiel, a smile tracing his features.

“But you can't pop in and out? Like he can?”

“I'm not old enough yet. Evidently,” sighed Castiel. 

“Ooooooh! You mean it's like growing a beard?”

“Maybe?”

“Because, Dean shaves, but I don't yet, but I'm getting a mustache!” said Sam. “See?”

Castiel carefully studied the peach fuzz on Sam's upper lip. “Why, yes, that is very impressive.”

“And I'm getting really tall. I keep outgrowing my jeans. I don't care how tall I get, as long as I'm taller than Dean!”

“I don't know if Dean would like that,” said Castiel. “Should we continue slaying zombies?” he asked, pointing to the Nintendo.

“Oh, yeah sure.” They sat down and grabbed the controllers and began once again slaying the undead. “So, you don't like spiders?” asked Sam.

“No,” said Castiel.

“I guess everybody has something. You know what I don't like? Slugs! Ewwww! I can't even be in the same room. Dean has to take them out of the room for me.”

“Is Dean scared of something?”

“I don't think Dean is scared of anything! Except maybe....”

“What?”

“Except maybe our dad.”

 

Sam Winchester spun, disoriented. He tried to figure out exactly when his life had turned into something amazingly awesome.

He had just got flown by an angel – an angel – and got dumped in a big spooky house to go look for saint's bones. 

He thought his head might explode. Seriously.

Cas cast an irritable glance at Gabriel and clicked on his flashlight. Sam did the same. Funny, though Sam had no problem believing his friend Castiel was an angel, his brother Gabe just didn't look the part. He could imagine Cas as a statue, with a sword and the wings, getting vengeance or something. The shorter boy seemed more like – Sam didn't know – an imp or something. He figured they were brothers, though, because they were always picking on each other and arguing about stupid stuff. 

“This is a big joint,” said Gabriel, waving his flashlight around.

“Yes, could you do some reconnaissance, Gabriel?” asked Castiel.

“English!”

Castiel sighed. “Have a look around?”

Gabriel nodded and winked out. Sam noticed this place looked like it had been abandoned for a long while. All the furniture was covered in sheets, and the sheets were dusty as hell. He wondered if they should have brought face masks as well as flashlights.

“He'd better return,” said Castiel.

“He's not such a bad guy,” offered Sam.

“Yes he is,” sighed Castiel. “My brothers.... I don't know what my Father was thinking, sometimes.”

“Gabe seems all right,” said Sam. “And Dean says he likes Balthy OK.”

“Balthazar is … OK. Sometimes,” allowed Castiel.

“Welllll,” said Gabriel who had just popped back in. “I think I found were they stashed the saint McNuggets. But you ain't gonna like it, Cassie.” He held up his hand. It was trailing in cobwebs.

Castiel shuddered.

It was fortunate, as it turns out, that Gabriel was along, as Sam thought they never would have found the crawl space. It was apparently only accessible from a darkened stairway, through a partially hidden hatchway between the second and third floors.

They had remembered to bring a crow bar, which was the only way to get the door opened, as the hinges had long since rusted. A terrible musty smell emitted as they cast their flashlights inside.

“Oh, wow, Indy Jones!” said Sam appreciatively. 

“Yuck,” said Castiel simply, staring at all the boxes and crates. There was dust everywhere, including cobwebs so old they were dusty, and what looked like rodent droppings in the corners.

“I guess we just start pulling boxes,” said Sam, who was squatting near the entrance. 

“I will.... I will enter and pass them out,” said Castiel. 

“OK, and we'll open 'em and poke inside,” said Sam.

“Oh, I was just going to stand here and look pretty,” offered Gabriel. He blinked as Castiel aimed the flashlight directly at him. 

“I'd say you fail at that,” said Castiel, who steeled himself and stepped inside the space.

“When did you teach him to joke?” Gabriel asked Sam, who giggled.

It was slow going, and, for the person unlucky enough to be inside the crawlspace, incredibly grubby. Although Castiel didn't complain, Gabriel was apparently sympathetic enough that he took a turn inside, passing out boxes, many of which turned out to be nun's habits, or Christmas lights, or other such mundanities.

“Are you guys sure this is the right place?” asked Gabriel, shaking away a cobweb.

Sam passed a hand over his sweaty forehead. Even he had gotten grimy as hell, though he was too small to be a hand at passing out the boxes. Though Cas was skinny and Gabe was short, the brothers were amazingly strong. So he had taken to being the crowbar guy. Fortunately, Dean had showed him how to use one, which he was doing right now.

Cas stumbled out of the crawlspace again. His pant legs were now slicked black from the grime, and his hair was full of cobwebs. He looked miserable.

“This is gonna take a day,” grumbled Gabriel, who was quite dirty himself.

“That crate!” said Castiel, pointing to the box Sam had just opened. Sam was getting tired as well as grubby, and opening the box, he had overbalanced and ended up falling on his ass. Cas was over, immediately rummaging around inside. 

The contents were much different than any of the other crates they had opened. There were little funny metal containers. “Reliquaries!” said Castiel. “Now we just need to find the right one.” He popped off the lid. “No, this is a bit of the cross,” he muttered, replacing the lid and setting it aside.

“Uh, how can you tell?” asked Gabriel. Sam nodded, surprised that this wasn't just some kind of angel thing.

“You can't?” asked Castiel. “This is a tooth, but I don't think it counts for bones.” He set the reliquary aside. He reached in and grabbed a box inside the box. “Can you get this, Sam?”

“Cool!” said Sam, showing the skull. “This counts, right?”

“No, that's not a true saint,” said Cas, who was still rummaging in the box.

“It's pretty cool, though. Can I take it for my room?” asked Gabriel.

“Gabe!” said Sam. “Not cool!”

“He doesn't need it! He's dead!” reasoned Gabriel.

“She,” said Castiel. “Oh, here we are!” He raised a small, dented reliquary in triumph. “This is a sliver of Saint Gertrude's thigh bone!”

“Saint Gertrude? Lame. I thought maybe we'd at least get a hot saint,” said Gabriel.

“She oversees souls in Purgatory! I believe that is important,” lectured Castiel.

“So. We're done?” asked Sam.

“We're done!” said Castiel. “Gabriel, can you get us back? And don't try to take that skull!”

“Aw,” said Gabriel, tossing the skull back in the crate. “OK, ready, set-”

Sam nearly barfed. He hadn't quite been prepared, and he was sort of light-headed from all the dust. But, anyway, here they were, back at his house. When his head stopped spinning, he looked around at Cas and Gabe. He laughed.

“Whatsa matter?” asked Gabriel.

“I didn't realize how dirty we'd gotten in the dark there!” said Sam. He looked at his own arms. “Aw, crap! Cas, we need to get cleaned up before Dean gets home.”

“You see, that's another thing about fledging,” said Gabriel smugly. He snapped his fingers, and he was suddenly sparkling clean, from head to toe. He grinned, and Sam could have sworn his teeth were even whiter.

“Yeah, don't rub it in,” grumbled Castiel.

“Hey, isn't that the roar of the Impala I hear?” asked Gabriel, putting his hand up to his ear. He held out a hand, and tossed a skull up in the air and caught it. “Well, catch you on the flipside,” he said, and, with a grin and a beating of wings, he was gone.

“Shit, is that Dean?” asked Sam, just as the front door opened.

“Hey, you guys getting hungry! I thought we could call out for.... What the fuck?” asked Dean, getting a look at the grubby twosome. “What the hell have you guys been up to?”

“Uh. Nothing?” said Castiel, awkwardly hiding the reliquary behind his back.


	5. Death Knocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

**Title:** Death Knocks (Flight Club, Chapter 5 of 8)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death  
 **Warnings:** Cursing, very mild sexual situations (this chapter)  
 **Word Count:** 38,000 total  
 **Summary:** John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.  
 **Notes:** This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.) 

 

“You're gonna summon Death? Dudes, I don't believe it,” said Dean, helping himself to some more meat lover's pizza.

Castiel, who was dripping wet and practically swallowed up in one of John's old bathrobes, nodded. He picked a pepperoni off his slice and popped it into his mouth. “It was the encounter with the werewolf that gave me the idea,” he said.

“Cas, quit picking at your damn pizza and eat it! You wanna do that fledging thing so you can chase Gabriel around, right?”

Castiel sheepishly put the pizza in his mouth and chewed off a bite.

“I think we have everything now,” said Sam, holding up a list. 

“This will be sweet. I don't think even Dad has ever done anything that badass,” said Dean.

“Speaking of Dad, did you finish your report?” asked Sam.

“Yeah, that's such a relief! Old Lady Walsh is a hardass.”

“I wonder how Gabriel has fared with that?” said Castiel.

“Can't he just snap his fingers and get it done?” asked Sam.

“No. For one thing, we are forbidden to use our grace like that in school. Doing the report that way, even if it were possible, would get him into even worse trouble.”

“You think he's gonna get clipped?” said Dean.

“I really hope not,” said Castiel sincerely. “I think it would be difficult for him. He appears to believe his friendship with Lucifer will protect him.”

“Eh. I don't trust that guy,” said Dan.

“Nor do I,” said Castiel. He shrugged.

“So, what, tomorrow we go?” asked Dean.

Cas and Sam exchanged a glance. Castiel nodded.

“Damn, I wish I still knew Martessa Mittelmann!” laughed Dean.

“Who was that?” asked Sam.

“You remember the goth chick?” asked Dean.

“Oh, the one who was always dressed in black with the skulls and stuff?” sighed Sam, dramatically rolling his eyes.

“That's the one! Hey, don't roll your eyes, she was cute.”

“I don't think we are doing this to, um, pick up chicks,” said Castiel.

“Dude, it sounds very weird when you say that,” said Dean.

“Really?” asked Castiel. “Oh, could I have another slice of pizza? I seem to have finished that one?”

 

So on the appointed day, Sam and Castiel gathered their ingredients, Castiel prepared the invocation.

And Dean called out for pizza. Extra pepperoni. With bread sticks, because it was a special occasion.

They ended up grinding the saint's bones in the coffee grinder, which Dean told them to swear never to tell John. And they fished a big salad bowl out of the kitchen for the ingredients. It ended up getting a little melty when they lit stuff up, so they ended up burying it at the back afterwards and hoping John wouldn't notice.

Castiel then said the Enochian words. Dean sat up close listening. He loved the sound of the angelic language. Especially when Cas spoke it. He couldn't really explain why, but it was just this feeling, kind of like having a beer, but also like a carnival ride. 

As Castiel intoned the final words, the lights suddenly flickered dramatically, and Dean could have sworn he heard the far off sound of hoofbeats.

And then … nothing.

“You guys are sure that was supposed to work?” asked Dean.

“Uh,” said Castiel.

“We had really good sources!” said Sam.

“Hm. Well, maybe try again next time?” said Dean.

“I dunno. It was a bitch getting the saint's bones,” sighed Sam.

The three boys jumped as the doorbell rang. “Pizza!” yelled Dean, who ran for the door. “Well, something going right this evening.”

He opened the door to a tall, very pale, very dour man holding a pizza carton. Oddly, the man was not dressed like any pizza man Dean had ever seen: he was wearing a dark suit. And the pizza truck was an awesome cool old Caddy.

“Someone, I believe, ordered a pizza,” said the man, handing Dean the pizza carton.

“Hey, that is one sweet ride,” said Dean, still looking at the white Cadillac. “Hey, wait!” he called as the man brushed by him into the house.

The tall man strode over to the partly melted bowl of summoning ingredients Castiel and Sam had assembled. “Well, rather amateurish, but effective I'll admit. This is your work?” he asked the boys.

“Hey,” said Dean, holding the pizza carton, “I didn't invite you in.”

“No, you rather tried to summon me here,” said the man dryly, holding up the bowl. “Just as a matter for future reference, I have come as a courtesy. I am not so easily ordered about.”

“D-Dean,” said Castiel, who was trembling. “This is Death.”

“Death? Cool!” said Sam.

“Oh. Want some pizza, Death?” asked Dean, as he wasn’t quite sure what else to say.

“Yes, I might stay and have a slice,” said Death, helping himself to a seat. “I rather like pizza.” Dean obligingly set the pizza carton down on the coffee table, and everyone gathered around. Sam ran into the kitchen and got a roll of paper towels.

“And you didn't get anchovies,” said Death approvingly, draping a paper towel over one pant leg.

“Naw. Anchovies suck,” said Dean.

“Are you going to tell me why you summoned me, or shall I guess?” Death asked Castiel, who was the only one without a slice. He looked terrified.

Death nudged the pizza carton over towards the angel. “Come along, Castiel. I know your Father. He would not approve of you being rude to a guest.”

“You.... You know my Father?” asked Castiel, cautiously taking a slice.

“Of course. Now, can you form into words the reason for your summons?”

“Your reapers aren't doing their job!” piped up Sam.

“Aren't they?” asked Death.

“He means, there appear to be many more restless spirits here than one might expect,” said Castiel.

“Well, that was very sharp thinking, gentlemen. You are correct,” said Death. “Hum, this is not bad for take out,” he mused at the pizza.

Castiel and Sam exchanged an excited glance. “Really?” asked Sam.

“Yes. In fact, someone has warded off my reapers.”

“Do you know who?” asked Dean.

“Mm. Unfortunately, no idea. I know this all began shortly before you boys came to live here,” he told Castiel. 

“Could it be demons?” asked Dean.

“Yes, that is a possibility. I of course and perhaps unfairly connected the anomaly with your birth,” he told Castiel. “But, given that you have summoned me, it appears you, at least, know nothing.”

Castiel sadly shook his head. “Do you think it was my Father's doing?”

“I do not sense His hand in it,” Death told him.

“So, we have a problem, but we don't know who's casting the hoodoo,” said Dean.

“I will give you one potential hint,” said Death. “Souls convey a power, for those who know how to use them. You might think upon your suspects, as to who might take advantage of this. Now, I am a busy man, so I haven't had time to look into this matter. I would appreciate it if, by some circumstance, you boys find out something.”

“We'll let you know!” said Sam.

“And, no need for the saints bones,” said Death, rising up. “You can just call the number on the carton. I have a cell.”

“Cool!” said Dean.

“Fascinating, really,” said Death. He had turned towards the door, but then seemed to change his mind. He approached Castiel, who seemed terrified. Death very gently put two fingers underneath Castiel's chin. “Eternal beings of light, but turned into innocent children. Or not so innocent. So you really remember nothing?” he asked Castiel. “Of your past life?”

Cas shook his head, but then said. “I think I have … gifts. I could speak and read Enochian, almost from the moment I became aware. Gabriel can use the magic of his grace. And Raphael.... He says he remembers.”

“Hum. Then you all have traces,” said Death.

“I don't remember Him. My Father.”

“Ah. Lovely gentlemen. We play chess, on occasion,” said Death. “Well, it has been charming, and I thank you for sharing your pizza. But I hope you will not take offense if I say, I hope I do not see you boys again for a very long time.” And so with a smile and a wave, Death was off.

The boys ran to the doorway to watch him go. “That is an awesome fucking car,” said Dean. “Hey, did he bring our breadsticks?”

 

It was late when Dean dropped off his friend at the Haunted Mansion, though it was also not yet midnight. Castiel was surprised when he went inside to be met by both Raphael and Balthazar, who had apparently been waiting up for him. 

“Brothers,” said Castiel. 

“Castiel,” said Balthazar. “The pale horseman was walking here, in this town, tonight.”

Castiel nodded, and tried to act casual. “We performed an evocation to summon Death,” he said, noticing with just a slight edge of pleasure that the mere name made his brothers shudder.

“You and the Winchesters?” asked Raphael. “You summoned him?”

“Yes. As you know, there is a great deal of spirit activity in this vicinity,” said Castiel. Actually, it was quite likely that his brothers did not know, as everyone else seemed too caught up in family politics to notice the outside world. “We thought to inquire about this.”

“And … what did he say?” asked Raphael.

“His reapers are being thwarted somehow,” said Castiel. “Do either of you know anything about this? He said the timing was coincident with our arrival here.”

“No,” said Raphael, who for his part did look sincerely confused. “That's very strange. Why would that be so?”

“I don't know,” admitted Balthazar. “I suppose we could ask Michael?”

Raphael frowned. “I don't know that Michael … needs to know. About this, I mean?”

Balthazar shrugged. “It's true. Perhaps we should hold off. The, uh, Gabriel … situation.”

Castiel nodded. Gabriel irked him, but on the other hand, it seemed the younger crowd was all in a bit of trouble with Michael at present. And, more importantly to Cas, alerting Michael meant alerting Lucifer. Which he was loath to do.

“Let's get to bed,” suggested Raphael. “We can discuss this tomorrow.”

“Over wine?” suggested Balthazar.

“Over a lot of wine,” sighed Raphae.

 

“YOU IDJITS SUMMONED DEATH?”

“Uh. Hi Uncle Bobby,” said Dean as the older man stormed into their house. It was the very next afternoon, after the summoning. Dean was actually sighing with relief. When he heard the pickup truck pull up, he had been momentarily petrified that John Winchester had returned.

“You kids are living on pizza?” asked Bobby, poking at a stack of empty cartons.

“We had pizza with Death, Uncle Bobby!” bragged Sam, who had just stood up, along with Castiel. They had been in front of the television, playing Nintendo. Castiel had actually gotten quite good on the gaming system.

“Yeah, so I heard,” said Bobby. “And what are you supposed to be?” he demanded of Castiel.

“I am Castiel Malakhim, angel of the Lord,” answered Castiel.

That seemed to throw Bobby for a loop. “You’re…?” He turned to Dean. “Dean Winchester! Your dad leaves you alone for a month, and you’re consorting with an angel? Are you out of your feeble mind, kid?”

“Cas is cool! He’s our friend!” said Sam.

“Uh. You’re not gonna tell Dad, are you?” Dean asked Bobby.

Bobby sighed and scratched under his cap. “I don’t know what the hell to do. My damn fault for not checking up on you sooner.” He looked at Castiel. “So I suppose you live up at the angel frat house?”

“I'm sorry. The what?” asked Castiel. 

“You live up on the hill with your brothers?”

“Yes,” said Castiel. “Although I spend a lot of time here. Sam has taught me to play Nintendo.”

“Oh, has he?” Bobby sighed and surveyed the veritable jungle of pizza boxes and burger wrappers. “Look, why don’t you boys come out to my place for a meal that ain’t out of a box? You too, angel of the Lord,” he told Castiel.

“Can I ride in the truck?” asked Sam, who was practically bouncing with glee.

 

“Are these all yours?” Castiel had stopped at the threshold of Bobby's house, transfixed by the stacks and stacks and stacks of books all over the living room.

“No, I'm on the ten most wanted lists in six states for overdue liberry books. Of course they're mine!” Bobby told Castiel.

“The Lesser Key of Solomon,” said Castiel, tracing his hand over one of the bindings.

“That’s not all! Uncle Bobby has even more books! Come and see!” said Sam, grabbing Castiel by the arm and dragging him inside. “This is a great place! It’s the greatest!” 

Dean and Bobby watched as a jabbering Sam dragged a still stunned Castiel upstairs for an impromptu tour.

“Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t put up any angel warding signs,” said Bobby.

“So, are they really angels?” asked Dean.

“You just killed a werewolf, and you're asking? Are you simple?” asked Bobby. “At least I figured it was you.”

“Uncle Bobby-”

“Siddown,” said Bobby. “I supposed I’m corrupting a damn minor, but you look like you could use one,” he continued, grabbing two beers and handing one to Dean. “Now, you’re supposed to pretend you never drank one before,” he told the boy as Dean expertly twisted the cap and took a healthy swig.

They both looked up to the sound of footsteps running overhead. 

“The Malakhim. I do not know why He thought it would be highly amusing to reincarnate the greatest of the host in … South Fucking Dakota,” said Bobby. “But I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. This all started a little over 20 years back. You know that big place, you see it up on the hill outside o’ town as you drive in?”

“The Haunted Mansion? I’ve been there,” grinned Dean, pulling back on a longneck. “For dinner!”

“Goddammit, I should have been checkin’ in on you boys more often,” said Bobby, pushing away some books and settling back in a chair. “Well, then you know the place. It had been deserted, no one knows how long, but then suddenly one day, there’s lights on and activity. And then, well, some call in town for maids, gardeners, that kind of thing. And a nanny.”

“So, that was the first brother?”

“Yup. No one ever saw the actual head of the household, everything always seemed to be handled by middlemen. No one in town cared too much, because it meant jobs for some. They tended to go for the close mouthed types.”

“Yeah, and it’s social suicide to ask about those guys in school,” agreed Dean.

“Some things haven’t changed. But the next year, there’s supposedly another brother. And then the next year, the same. No word at all of a mother and father. But no one here seemed to care.

“Now, folks like me, who live by watching signs and portents, knew something was up. Powerful, powerful entities. Off the charts. I guess we were all waiting for some fireworks, and when it never blew, some lost interest. But I kept a watch.”

“So it was the six brothers?” asked Dean.

“Seven. Seven years, seven brothers.”

“Wait. I’ve only met six.” Dean ticked off on his fingers. “Michael, Lucifer, Raph, Balthy, Gabe and Cas.”

“Josh. He’s the oldest,” said Bobby.

“I thought Michael was the oldest?”

“Nope. Though I’ve heard he’s taken over as head. Josh – Joshua – took off some years back. Not sure what he’s up to. Heard he was a nice kid.”

“Another brother who’s nothing like any of the others,” said Dean.

“Well, you know better than me. Cas was the last of ‘em, and a few years after that, there was less and less need for folks in the town to go on up there. I knew of a lady who looked after Cas when he was a mite. Would have been about the time you were born.”

“Yeah, he’s one class behind me at school,” said Dean.

“Said he was quiet as all hell. So quiet it was almost spooky. His older brother Gabe was bubbly but could be fussy as the dickens. But that was a hell of a long time ago.”

“Some things haven’t changed,” said Dean.

There was the sound of thunder coming from the stairs. Sammy was running down, leading Castiel. 

“Can I show him the basement Uncle Bobby?” asked Sam. “Can I show him downstairs?”

“You have an … amazing library, Mr. Singer,” said Castiel reverently.

“Well, next time you get a mind to go invoke Death, maybe you could stop by here first,” sighed Bobby.

“Unfortunately, I do not have a vehicle,” said Castiel. 

“You don't drive? How the heck old are you?” asked Bobby.

Castiel blushed. “I'm fifteen.”

“None of the guys have cars,” said Dean. “Well, except Lucifer's Prius.”

“Well, as you understand, we don't need them. Um, after we've fledged,” Castiel explained.

“Cas is still too young to fly,” said Dean, who hoped he wasn't treading on a sore spot.

“How old you gotta be?” asked Bobby.

Castiel shrugged.

“Well, since you're old enough, why don't you learn to drive while you're waiting around? Kids need cars. And I got several hunks around back you could learn on.”

“Could I show him, Uncle Bobby?” asked Sam. “Please?”

“You can drive, Sam?” asked an obviously impressed Castiel.

“Of course! But they won't let me near the Impala.” 

“No one goes near Baby,” Dean laughed.

“But I drive really good! I can drive stick!” bragged Sam. 

Bobby tossed Sam a set of keys. “Show him one of the automatics to get started.”

“Automatics are for pussies!” said Sam happily as he started to run outside.

“Will this be like learning Nintendo?” asked Castiel, who followed him out.

“Easier! No zombies!”

Dean laughed as his brother and his friend hastened out the door.

“They seem like bosom buddies?” said Bobby.

“I swear I didn't know this, because neither one of them told me, but some kids had been bothering Sammy since when he started. Anyway, Cas caught them picking on him, and I guess he scared the living shit out of the main bully. They've stayed away, but the brothers said the parents complained.”

“Assholes,” sighed Bobby. “You heard about the incident with Cas? Some years ago? I heard from a friend of a friend who's got kids in the school. There was this boy – he wasn't slow, he was just sort of different. Austistic I think, but it don't matter. Anyway, I guess Cas took a liking to him. 

“Anyway, some little shits started picking on him. Pushed into lockers, pushed downstairs. On thing after another. And then I guess what happened is one day Cas walked in on them. Beat the crap out of 'em. Broke the bully's arm.”

“Heh. Good for Cas,” laughed Dean. 

“And the parents complained of course. Here, Cas was not half as big as the kid he supposedly beat up. Anyway, Cas got written off as a bully, and whoever calls the shots in that family – Michael or Lucifer, I'm not sure – had him back off and stay away from the other kids.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. He told me when we met he spends all his lunches and breaks in the library. I assumed he was getting picked on. I never would have assumed.... I mean, seriously, the guy weighs 140 pounds dripping wet!”

“You know what they say about assuming,” said Bobby.

“But what happened to the autistic kid?”

“Folks withdrew him. Moved town, from what I understand.”

“So Cas stood up for what was right and lost his friend?”

“Seems like,” said Bobby. “Nobody said life was fair. But now you tell me, what our buddy Death had to say?”

Dean took another sip of beer and settled back into the couch. “So, Sam had this theory-”

“Sammy did?” asked Bobby.

“Yeah. There seems to be a lot of spirit activity hereabouts. So, I went to get a werewolf a while back-”

“So that _was_ you?”

“Yeah,” admitted Dean. “Anyway, I took Cas-”

“You didn't take Sam, did you?”

“No! Uncle Bobby, are you gonna let me tell this story or what?”

Bobby made a zipping motion over his lip and waved Dean on.

“Anyway, the werewolf wasn't really a problem, but the trouble was we nearly got our heads torn off by the spirits of the victims!”

“Did they quiet down when you got the wolf?”

“Yes. It was a little strange,” said Dean.

“Strange how?”

“Well. We both – Cas and I – got the feeling there was another presence out there. Maybe we were just spooked. But, anyway, that gave Cas and Sam the idea to do this spell to talk to Death.”

“What did the man say?”

“He says that there's something blocking his reapers hereabouts. That it started before the Malakhim brothers were born, and he doesn't know what's doing it.”

“Huh,” said Bobby. 

“But here's another thing: he claims that there's use for spirits. That if you know how to use them, you can get power from them?”

“That's interesting. Death said that?”

Dean nodded.

“Well, I haven't a clue, but that ain't my specialty. I'll have to do some research. There's some books on demon powers over there if you wanna grab me one.”

Dean reached over, knocking over a shoebox.

“Hey, what's this?” asked Dean.

“Oh, just a box of old photos. You might like it. Some are of your dad and me.”

Dean grinned and pulled out a bundle of photos that had been rubber banded together and took a look in the stack. Bobby looked young as hell. There were some other guys and women, probably hunters, that he didn't know.

And then he saw a photo and stopped dead.

“Bobby. Who is that?”

“Hey, that's John! That's your dad. Looking good, huh?”

“Bobby. That's Michael Malakhim. Cas' brother.”

“What?”

“They could be twins.” Which was especially weird, Dean thought, as none of the brothers looked like brothers.

“Well. Don't that beat all. Hell of a coincidence.”

“You sure it's a coincidence?” asked Dean, suddenly very unsettled.

 

When Dean pulled up to the Haunted Mansion that night, both he and Cas suddenly went dead silent.

There was a Prius parked in the driveway.

“Cas?” asked Dean. The angel was already scrambling out the door.

“I need to get inside,” said Cas. “Something is not right.”

“Cas!” shouted Dean. Castiel turned around. “Dude. Should I wait for you?”

Castiel cast a glance inside. He looked undecided, but then shook his head. He came back to the car. “I will meet you for lunch tomorrow my friend. All right?”

There was an undertone of pleading in his tone. “Yeah. I'll be there,” said Dean.

Castiel gulped, and then, squaring his shoulders, entered his house. 

Gabriel was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, looking like a condemned prisoner. Michael and Lucifer both stood over him, glowering. Balthazar and Raphael were there as well, Balthazar looking miserable, and Raphael staring furiously at the floor, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“You can't do this,” Gabriel pleaded.

“Our decision is final,” said Michael.

“Don't worry, little dude,” purred Lucifer. “They'll grow back.”

“What is going on?” asked Castiel, stepping boldly into the center of the room.

“Cassie,” said Balthazar, who put out a cautioning hand. Castiel ignored him.

“This is none of your concern, Castiel,” said Michael, dark eyes flashing.

“Your brother neglected another history report,” said Lucifer. “So we're just going to give him a small lesson.”

“They're gonna clip me, Cassie!” said Gabriel.

“Gabriel was unable to complete his report on time because he was assisting me … on an errand,” said Castiel. “The fault is mine.”

“Castiel,” said Michael. “This is none. Of your. Concern.”

“It will just be a very quick snip,” said Lucifer, who had his sword out. “He won't feel it at all.”

“You will not touch him,” said Castiel, who went to stand between Lucifer and Gabriel.

“Castiel, don't make things unpleasant,” purred Lucifer.

Castiel took out his sword.

“Remember, I can't clip your wings. I might have to clip your neck,” said Lucifer.

“Lucifer!” yelled Raphael. “No!”

“Enough!” barked Michael. He swing out a hand, and suddenly, Castiel went tumbling away, slamming hard into a wall. Balthazar and Raphael ran over to him. Gabriel stood, but Michael, with another gesture, slammed him back down. “Gabriel. Take out your wings. Now!”

“No!” moaned Castiel, who was lying, bleeding, in Balthazar's arms.

“Out!” Michael commanded. And the three – Cas, Balthazar, and Raphael – were suddenly standing on the other side of the door, which slammed decisively shut.

Raphael stood outside the door, breathing hard. Castiel struggled to his feet, Balthazar steadying him.

From inside the room, Gabriel screamed.

“Brother,” said Balthazar softly, holding Castiel. “We should … we should get Cassie away from here.”

Gabriel howled again.

“I will stay here,” said Raphael. “I will witness my brother's cries. Every last one. Every last one.”

Balthazar nodded. “Cassie, you come with me. I need to fix you up.”

Castiel nodded sadly and accompanied Balthazar out of the room. Balthazar sat him down in a bathroom and checked for bruises. 

“Are you feeling well? Do you think anything was broken? We can keep you home from school tomorrow if you are in pain,” said Balthazar as he grabbed the iodine from the medicine cabinet.

“I do not wish to stay home from school tomorrow,” said Castiel.

“Can't say as I blame you,” sighed Balthazar, dabbing at a rivulet of blood dripping down his brother's nose. “You will be OK? Walking?”

“I did not tell you,” said Castiel. He looked up, his eyes shining with pride. “I can drive a car!”

 

Dean had been in such a state of worry in the morning he had completely forgotten to pack a lunch. His state of mind was not improved when he didn't see Gabriel in his history class. He hurried over to their favorite bench at lunchtime, and was surprised to see Balthazar sitting with Castiel, one arm draped protectively over his little brother, the other trailing a forbidden cigarette.

“What's going on?” asked Dean. “Oh, god, Cas, what happened?” he added, sinking down to a squat in front of his friend. He took Castiel's face in his hands. “That's some shiner!” he said, regarding the black eye.

“Gabiel got himself clipped last night, and our little Cassie thought to intervene,” explained Balthazar.

“Lucifer did this?” asked Dean.

“Michael and Lucifer,” said Balthazar, exhaling smoke.

Dean seethed. He wanted to drop everything and storm out to the house and kick the living shit out of both Michael and Lucifer. He wanted to get one of Bobby's shotguns....

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly.

“Yeah?” 

Castiel was shaking his head. “My arrogance did this. Michael and Lucifer are far more powerful than I.”

“No. You did not do this to yourself. Your brothers did this, and when I get my hands on them-”

“Both are gone. For now,” said Balthazar. “Back to college. But it might be good for Castiel if he stayed out of the house tonight. It's a little miserable there. Gabriel has refused to come out of his room.”

“Cas. You wanna stay over tonight? Maybe you and Sammy could stay up too late finishing that stupid game?”

“Yes, I would like that,” said Castiel.

“What about you, Balthy?” asked Dean. “It's not cool like your house, but you could hang out.”

“Thank you, but no,” smiled Balthazar. “Some other time, though. I have rehearsals. That is the splendid thing about being a theater major: there are always rehearsals.”

“So, you want me to pick you up after school?” Dean asked Cas.

“I drove!” said Castiel.

“What?” asked Dean, who smiled despite himself.

“We were feeling like shit last night,” explained Balthazar, “and Cassie explained that your friend, a Mr. Singer, had offered him driving lessons?”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, he's been driving at Bobby's.”

“Well, we popped over, and Mr. Singer, despite his surprise at the late hour, was kind enough to let my brother borrow a vehicle.”

“It's a manual transmission! Because automatics suck!” said Castiel.

“You're driving stick?” asked Dean.

“And he also supplied a drivers license, for someone named Sidney Barrett,” said Balthazar.

“Cas, next time you see you're brother's Prius is parked there?”

“Yes?”

“Make sure to scrape the door,” said Dean, miming throwing a car door open.

Balthazar threw his head back and laughed.

Castiel almost smiled.

 

They had gone through two pizzas, an order of breadsticks, a couple liters of coke, and and three different video games. Dean finally had to half carry Sammy to bed, as he seemed reluctant to give up his controller. 

Dean came back to the living room and sat down on the couch, opposite Castiel, who sat, contentedly, with his feet up. 

“So, Gabe got his wings clipped?” asked Dean.

“It was terrible,” said Castiel, who shuddered. “I don't always get along with Gabriel, but believe he has been done a great injustice.”

“Cas,” said Dean. “Look, I don't want to be rude or insult you....”

“What is it, Dean?” asked Castiel, blue eyes inquisitive.

“So, you guys really have wings?”

“Yes, of course,” said Cas, with the almost-smile. “We are angels.”

“Well,” said Dean. “I guess it was a stupid question.” And then he asked, because he had to. “Could.... Could I see? Some time.”

To his surprise, Cas simply shrugged, casual as if Dean had asked to see his sweater or something mundane like that. “We need to go somewhere there is room,” he said, looking around.

Oh, wings were big, Dean decided, still not entirely certain what he was going to see. He followed Castiel from the cramped living room, and into the master bedroom, where Cas was going to crash. It was technically John Winchester's room, but as he had yet to spend more than a single night there, there was nothing but a bed occupying the room. There were a few boxes piled in the closet. 

Cas looked around, and seemed to decide it was big enough. He didn't bother to turn on the light, as moonlight shown in the room.

Cas unbuttoned his flannel shirt and took it off, and then pulled his undershirt off over his head and tossed it on the bed. And then … well, he sort of shrugged. Dean wasn't ever quite certain. Because it was no longer Cas standing before him. This was some kind of amazing winged creature. 

The wings flicked a bit, as if Cas were shaking them out, like you would a bedspread you'd tucked up in the closet for a while. But then he was hovering close, his face a mask of concern. “Dean. It's all right. Please don't be scared.”

 _Why is he telling me this?_ thought Dean, who realized it was because he was down on his knees. There were tears in his eyes. 

Cas had his hands out. “Don't be afraid. It's only me. You're all right,” he repeated. Dean put out his hands and let Cas pull him up, wobbly kneed and weeping and a mess. Dean wasn't sure what had happened to him. Cas was just so … perfect. Everything was just so perfect. He had Castiel's face in his hands now, touching him gently with his fingers, afraid any whisper would damage this moment. Dean ran his fingers very gently over Cas' bruised eye, willing away the hurt his friend felt. 

Cas was speaking to him, very softly now. It wasn't English, so it must be Enochian. But Dean knew what he was saying, that Dean was safe, that Dean was loved. He knew as he leaned over to kiss Cas that it would be soft and thrilling, and now his hands were moving to catch Cas' bare waist and the smooth skin there. And then he knew from the soft whisper that the graceful dark wings were enfolding him, enfolding them both, and it was all sweet and blessed, and he didn't care if Raphael was right or wrong, because God was here, in this silent moment.


	6. Rusty Muffler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angelic driving lessons and a stolen text.

**Title:** Rusty Muffler (Flight Club, Chapter 6 of 8)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death  
 **Warnings:** Cursing, mild sexual situations (this chapter)  
 **Word Count:** 38,000 total  
 **Summary:** John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.  
 **Notes:** This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.) 

 

Castiel threw open his front door and strode confidently into the Haunted Mansion. 

“Where are you headed, Castiel?” asked Raphael. And then when it became apparent, he added, “He won't speak to you.”

“He'll speak to me,” said Castiel.

“He still won't come out of his room,” warned Balthazar.

“That's all right. I will go in,” said Castiel, knocking on Gabriel's door.

“Go the fuck away!” came Gabriel's muffled voice.

Ignoring Gabriel, Castiel entered. Gabriel was a lump in the middle of the mattress, swaddled in layers and layers of bedding.

“I said go away!” said the lump.

Castiel sat down on the bed. 

Gabriel suddenly moved, wriggling around, sitting up. His eyes were red from crying. “If you tell me they'll grow back, I'll-”

“I can drive a car,” said Castiel, holding up a set of keys.

Gabriel paused. “You can what?”

“I can drive a car. Dean's friend Bobby has loaned me a car. Would you like to come driving with me?”

“When did this happen?” asked Gabriel.

“Maybe he would let you drive too? He has a lot of cars.”

“Who is this guy?”

“He's Sam and Dean's friend. And he's cool and he has cars and books.”

“The _cars_ sound cool,” Gabriel allowed.

“I'm going out this afternoon. He said he would show me how to shoot a gun.”

“Really?” asked Gabriel, his eyes widening.

 

Bobby wasn't terribly amused to see two boys instead of one drive up in Castiel's “new” car. Although he hadn't shared the information with Cas, one reason Bobby had selected that particular wreck for his driving lessons was that the engine was so damned noisy, you could never get away with any sneaking around. 

But Bobby hadn't remembered exactly how damned noisy, and was now regretting he hadn't replaced the rusty muffler. Well, maybe he'd teach the angel kid to do it. Might as well get some use to him.

“Cas. And what's this supposed to be?” Bobby asked, pointing to the smaller kid who was now spinning around like an idiot.

“Mr. Singer. This is my brother, Gabriel.”

“Ah, so you're Gabe?” asked Bobby.

“Is all this yours, Mr. Singer?” asked Gabriel, who seemed honestly impressed. Bobby considered him for a minute. He had gleaned that Gabe was a little bratty, but he also knew that the poor kid had gotten some shit from his older brothers the evening Cas had intervened (and gotten a black eye for his trouble).

“Yeah, it ain't much, but it's home,” said Bobby. “By the way, Mr. Singer sounds like an old fart, so you two might as well call me, Bobby.”

“Thanks, Bobby!” said Gabriel.

“Now, Gabe. As you might know, I was gonna show your brother a little bit about shooting today. Seeing as how he’s been helping Dean on his runs. Now, I know him a little, but I don't know you. So, you're not gonna touch anything. Not anything! You're gonna shut the hell up and watch. You understand?”

Gabriel nodded frantically.

“Well, you didn't have to shut the hell up now,” sighed Bobby. “Come on. Let's get over to the range.”

Bobby's “shooting range” wasn’t much more than bottles up on fence posts. “Now, we're gonna start with handguns. They ain't great for aiming, but they're easy to carry, and have good stopping power for close range. Also, they're pretty small, and you kids ain't too big yet.”

Bobby found, unsurprisingly, that Castiel was an excellent shot. He was careful, and cool as a cucumber. Despite Bobby's caveats, he relented and let the other kid squeeze off a shot or two. Gabriel wasn't as good as Cas, but with a little coaching, he was decent. 

Gabe had just managed to shoot a real live bottle when the other two kids appeared.

And that's what they did. They literally appeared. There was a sort of rustling sound first – wings beating? Damn.

As Bobby had been a spook hunter for decades, he wasn't necessarily put off by the principle of entities just popping up out of nowhere. But he nevertheless spared a glare. It was a mite rude.

“Balthy,” he said, as he recognized the tall kid. Balthazar had been the one who had popped up with a battered Cas the other night to see if Bobby could loan the kid a car, to give him something to do. Even though Bobby's every parental instinct told him to call a social worker about this, he'd bitten his tongue and helped them out, vowing to himself to keep a better watch on those kids as well as “his” Winchesters.

“Mr. Singer. This is my brother, Raphael,” said Balthazar, indicating a slightly shorter, dark-skinned kid.

“Bobby,” said Bobby, sticking out a hand. Raphael took it.

“Just go the fuck away,” said Gabriel. 

Bobby tapped Gabriel on the shoulder and relieved him of the handgun. “Now,” Bobby told him, “this is my property, so I believe I have a say in who stays and who goes.”

“We're worried about you, Gabriel,” said Balthazar. “You haven’t been out of your room in days.”

“Yeah. Now's a great time to be worried,” grumbled Gabriel.

“And we are here to apologize,” said Raphael. “We should have done more … to protect you the other night. Both of you.”

“Raph? I assume you're the one in charge here?” asked Bobby.

“Yes. When my brothers are out of town,” said Raphael. He shrugged. “I try.”

“Well, you ain't trying hard enough. You're damn lucky I didn't get on the phone to Social Services when I saw what you guys had done to Cas!”

“I am all right now, Bobby,” said Castiel.

“And I ain't quite sure what you done to this one,” Bobby continued, pointing to Gabriel, “but I'm sure as hell that wasn't right either.”

“I.... Yeah,” said Raphael sadly. He looked bitter. “We need to stop fighting with each other! It's important! None of you see how important!”

“Go fuck yourself, Raphael,” said Gabiel.

“Now, Gabriel,” cautioned Balthazar.

“You don't remember. None of you remember. But I remember. I remember every moment. Every second. You all get to forget. But I don't.” Raphael stood for a moment. And then he raised his hand. He held Bobby’s handgun. 

“Shit,” said Bobby, who had just noticed he was no longer holding the gun.

Raphael turned and expertly tapped off six quick shots. Six bottles turned to sprays of glass shards, one after the other. Raphael pointed the gun back downwards, and then, breathing hard, held it out, handle first, to a stunned Bobby.

“We weren't messengers,” said Raphael as a stunned Bobby took the gun. “We were soldiers of the Lord. And we.... We fucked it up. We fucked it up badly. So badly it couldn't be put together again. You don't understand. None of you do. What I live with.” Raphael looked up, tears in his eyes. “I think He put us here to get it right this time. This is our last chance! We have to stop fucking it up. Don't you see? Don't any of you see?”

Bobby put a hand on Raphael's shoulder. “Well, I'll tell you what. I think we've had enough shooting for the day. You boys wanna come inside for a while? I'm working on a problem, and it might be something you kids would know about.”

And, with his hand on Raphael's shoulder, Bobby led him towards the house. Castiel followed. Gabriel hung back, glaring, but Balthazar nodded to him, and he reluctantly followed.

“As I commented the other day, Mr.-”

“Bobby.”

“Bobby,” corrected Balthazar as they entered the cluttered living room, “your library is impresssive.”

“You have Enochian texts?” asked Raphael, who made for one corner, and then ran his finger over the spines of several books marked with strange sigils.

“Yep. Probably not as good as the stuff at your house I suppose,” said Bobby.

“You ought come over and see,” said Balthazar.

“A ticket to the Haunted Mansion?” laughed Bobby. “I wouldn't refuse.”

“The Haunted Mansion?” asked Gabriel.

“Sam and Dean started to call it that,” said Castiel, who was almost smiling. “It evidently resembled an amusement park ride?”

“Yeah, get the joke, but...” said Gabriel. “We do live in a scary house, huh?”

“I'm sure it ain't scary to you,” said Bobby. “This place is probably more scary.”

“This place is awesome,” said Gabriel. “You have smashed cars! And guns!”

“And books?” asked Balthazar.

“Eh,” said Gabriel, waving a hand.

“You're missing the sixth Book of Mystery?” asked Raphael, who was crouching down near a stack of angelic books.

“What? I shouldn't be!” said Bobby, coming near.

“I don't see it here,” said Raphael. 

“Funny thing to go missing,” said Bobby. “I don't recall loaning it out.”

“Do you read Enochian?” asked Raphael.

“No, unfortunately. I've been able to make out some of the squiggles. But I'm probably even doing that wrong.”

“We could teach you,” offered Castiel.

“Cassie is our expert,” said Balthazar warmly. “He dreams in Enochian.”

“Yeah, Dean mentioned you speak it really well,” said Bobby.

“He did?” asked Castiel, causing Balthazar to laugh out loud.

“You like that human,” said Gabriel.

“No I don't,” said Castiel. “Um. Yes I do.”

“Nothing wrong with liking a human,” said Bobby. “And I say that as a human.”

“Oh. Sorry,” said Gabriel.

“What did you want to ask us about?” asked Raphael.

 

It was late when Castiel pulled up to the Winchester house. His car was a little quieter, as Bobby had insisted on swapping out the muffler. “Am I too late?” he asked.

“You're perfect,” said Dean, pulling him into the house. 

“Where's Sam?”

“Gone to bed.” Dean tugged Castiel down on the couch and began kissing him. “Damn. I missed you. How long has it been?”

Castiel shook his head, glad that he had been missed, and especially glad to have been missed by Dean. “Um. Did you want me to extend my wings again?”

Dean pulled Cas over onto his lap. “Uh. Maybe no. For now?”

“All right.”

“It.... It make me kind of crazy.”

“I think I like it when you're crazy.” And the smile actually flickered in to a real smile.

“Well, then you could smile like that. Damn. I don't know,” said Dean. “Let's just.... Let's just be like this. For now. I like to go a little slow.”

Castiel smiled again and then they were kissing again, and kissing some more, and even more, and various items of clothing were doffed. And then Dean came up for air for long enough that he decided they should probably get the hell out of the living room, just in case Sam woke up and walked in on them. 

They ended up in the master bedroom because, well, John wasn't using it, was he? 

“You know what Sam noticed,” said Dean, quietly closing the door.

“No,” said Cas, sitting back on the bed, and thinking he probably ought to be more scared than he was.

“There hasn't been anyone. I mean, I haven't been with anyone. Since we moved here.”

“Oh. Why not?”

“Uh. I think that's obvious,” said Dean, now sliding on top of Cas. “There aren't any girls around here who smack vampires and speak in angel.”

“Enochian,” said Castiel, who chose that minute to tell Dean more or less that he was very attractive in that language.

“God I love it when you do that!'

“I know.”

And then more clothes were off, and finally, all the clothes were off, and it was just them, together. And Castiel found he didn't really give a shit any more when he fledged, or even if he ever fucking fledged, because really, what would some crappy magic angel feathers have against this? How could flying ever make him feel like this? 

 

_“What the hell do you think you're doing?”_

So here was the thing about the master bedroom: it was around the back of the house. That was why Dean didn't hear the truck pull up, didn't hear the truck's door slam, didn't hear the front door open, and certainly didn't hear John Winchester open the door to the master bedroom, where Dean had fallen asleep, in John's bed, with Cas in his arms.

“Oh. Shit,” whispered Dean.

“One minute, Dean Winchester,” hissed John. “One minute, and then you're out of my fucking bedroom. Now!”

Castiel was awake, blinking in confusion.

“Stay here,” whispered Dean, who was already out of bed and pulling on his jeans.

“I should go out with you,” said Castiel.

“No, believe me, it's better if you stay here.”

“I could explain,” said Castiel.

“Not to my dad, you couldn't,” sighed Dean. He kissed Cas on the top of his head and then, pulling on a shirt, stepped out, carefully closing the door behind him.

“What the hell is going on?” demanded John.

“Nothing,” said Dean.

“Dad?” asked Sam, who looked like he had just gotten up. “What's the matter?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

“You! Back to your room!” ordered John.

“Why?” asked Sam, who crossed his arms and stayed put.

“Samuel. I said back to your room. Now! I need to speak to your brother.”

“Cas is over,” Dean told Sam.

“Cas is our friend!” Sam told John. “He's an angel of the Lord!”

And then John went quiet, and suddenly, Dean had a sinking feeling that no, he couldn't handle this.

“You invited one of those … things … to our house?” asked John, rounding on Dean.

“Dad! Oh for Christ's sakes, it’s not like he’s a vampire!” said Dean. But he felt something wasn’t right. He could tell when John quit screaming and got kind of scary quiet. Something had changed in his father, making him turn from riled up to murderous. 

John hurled himself at the bedroom door. He flung it open and spat, “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester,” said Castiel, who as now dressed and seemed preternaturally calm. “If I have given you a bad impression.”

“Get out of my house!” John whispered. “Now.”

“He's my friend and he doesn't have to leave!” said Dean, who had planted himself between John and Castiel.

“This is my house!” said John.

“No it's not! You don't even live here!” said Dean.

“No more of your mouth!” said John, who raised his hand.

And then all of a sudden John was on his stomach, arm wrenched behind him, Castiel's knee in his back.

“You … do not touch him,” Castiel whispered to John.

“Cas! Cas! It's OK. It's OK!” said Dean as Castiel's eyes bored into John. “Let him go, Cas,” said Dean, lightly touching Cas’ shoulder. He could feel the angel trembling. “Let him go.”

Castiel glanced at him and then, reluctantly, stepped back.

John got up, locking eyes with Castiel.

“Dad!” yelled Sam, who held out a cell phone.

“John! It's Bobby!” came a voice over the speaker. _“You listen to me! Now! Else I'm grabbing my shotgun and coming for you!”_

“Bobby,” said John, still having a stare down with Castiel.

_“John Winchester! Whatever you're doing, you stop it. You get your ass in that truck, and you come out and see me. I said now! Do you hear me? I don't want another Denver.”_

John's eyes flicked over to the phone.

_“Do you fucking hear me John?”_

Breathing hard, John rose. “Yes, Bobby. On my way.” With a final murderous glance around the room, he was gone, like a passing storm.

“Fucking fuck,” said Dean, sinking down on the couch.

“I should.... I should go,” said Castiel.

“No! Please don't go now!” pleaded Dean, grabbing Cas' arm and pulling him down. “Sammy,” he told his brother. “Thanks, buddy. You saved my ass.”

Sam folded his arms and looked at Dean, with his arm slung over Cas.

“Cas spent the night, didn't he?”

“Yeah, he did,” admitted Dean.

“Seeeeeee? I told you that's why you weren't going with those girls!”

“Yes, Sammy. You're right. You're always right,” sighed Dean.

“Just remember that!”

“And Cas. Thanks for jumping in. With my dad. But, things with my dad, they're … complicated.”

“I will not let him strike you,” said Castiel, who immediately tensed.

Dean nodded. “Look. I know what it looked like. But Dad isn't like that. He gets real mad, but then you talk to him, and he calms down. I don't think he was gonna do it. But I don't know. Look!” he added, as Castiel was about to protest. “I know you protect people. Like you protected Sammy and you protected me. I know that's what you do. But you need to give me a chance with him. OK?”

Castiel seemed to calm down. “All.... All right.”

“He's not a bad guy.”

“Sometimes he's a real jerk!” groused Sam, who flopped down in the chair opposite. “But.... Yeah. Dean is right.”

“We'll figure it out. I guess,” said Dean, although he did not say it with a great deal of confidence. 

 

“What’s this?” asked Dean as he sat in Bobby's living room that afternoon..

“What does it look like? It’s lamb’s blood,” said Bobby, motioning for the bowl

“Whoa, cool,” said Dean, handing it over.

“One hunter’s tip: pays to make friends with your local butcher. He thinks I keep a pack of big dogs out here.

“I’ll remember that,” laughed Dean. And then, more seriously, he asked, “So, is my dad still gonna kill me?”

Bobby sighed and looked up over his reading glasses. “You had to do this in his bed? What were you thinking? Of course, I realize any reference to ‘thinking’ makes this a stupid ass question.”

“I didn’t know he was coming home! It had been months. Besides, my bed is kind of cramped.”

“We’ll go get you a damn king size. Don’t you kids go neck in the back seat of your car any more?”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” said Dean, who was quite suddenly thinking of that. “You don’t understand, Bobby. Angels: have you seen it when they have their wings out?” he asked. He spread his arms and started to get a little dreamy-eyed.

“I ain’t had the pleasure. But I gotta ask, have you heard the expression, too much information?”

“Sorry, Uncle Bobby.”

“Look, your dad thinks…. I ain’t sure where he came up with this one, but he’s now got it in his head that angels are behind your ma’s death.”

“What? That’s ridiculous!”

“Not completely,” said Bobby. “You won’t remember, since you were small and Sammy was just a babe. We’ve always suspected there was supernatural involvement. I won’t go into it. Me, I think it’s demons. All the signs are there. But John….”

“Oh, good god!” said Dean. “Is that why he dragged us here? To Sioux Falls? It’s not for us, it was never for us, was it? He’s checking up on the angels.”

“Son….”

“That old son of a bitch!”

“Dean Winchester! You do not speak of your pop like that when I’m around.”

“Sorry. Uncle Bobby,” muttered Dean.

“One thing, boy, what you said about Cas tackling your old man like that?”

“Yeah,” said Dean, who thought it best not to mention right at the moment that he thought the whole thing was awfully cool.

“That boy is still water. You don’t quite know what’s happening beneath. Be careful when he’s around your old man. You kids are doing … homework together, or whatever it is, take my advice, go out to his house for the next few days.”

“OK. But I’ve told Cas I can handle my dad.”

“Ain’t you I’m worried about,” said Bobby, who removed his reading glasses and looked at Dean. “Your dad gets into it with Sam again, like when you kids were in Colorado….”

“The broken arm? That was an accident!” said Dean. “I mean…. Sort of an accident.” Dean shuddered at the memory of the emergency room visit, and the polite fiction that Sammy had “fallen.” Well, he had fallen, but only after John had smacked him.

“Those two are too much alike. I’ve always said so,” said Bobby. “Your dad gets into it with Sammy again, and Cas is around, I ain’t sure the boy won’t haul off and snap your dad’s fool neck.”

Dean didn’t reply, although he thought, not for the first time, that maybe somebody should haul off and break his fool father’s neck. But he immediately regretted the thought. 

“Like I said,” Bobby continued, slipping back the eyglasses. “Give your dad some room. Maybe get Sam’s whatchajiggy Nintendo thing and set it up at Cas’ house.”

“So my dad’s in town, and we’re supposed to avoid him?” asked Dean sullenly.

Bobby shrugged. “What do I look like, your fairy godmother, kid? Now, gimme a minute, I’m scrying.”

“You’re what?”

“It’s like a search. You know that angel magic book that went missing on me?”

“You couldn’t find it?”

“Well, that’s what I’m trying to do,” Bobby told him. “I mark my books, especially the rare ones, in case of some damn fool who borrows it and doesn’t return it.”

Dean watched in fascination as Bobby dipped his hand in the sticky sheep's blood and seemed to run it around, like he was looking for something in the bottom of the bowl. 

“Huh,” Bobby said at length, sitting back. 

“What is it?”

Bobby grabbed a rag and started to wipe the blood from his hand.

“Hey, Bobby! I can steer around a corner and hardly ever crash!” yelled Gabriel, who had just burst through the door. Castiel followed him, and Dean was pretty sure the angel was rolling his eyes. “Hey, were you scrying?” asked Gabriel, who ran over to the bowl. “What did you see?”

“As a matter of fact, I was looking for that lost Enochian Book of Mysteries,” said Bobby, who was suddenly studying Gabriel closely.

“Did you locate it, Bobby?” asked Castiel.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact. Seems like it somehow got into you boys’ house.”

“Gabriel!” chided Castiel.

“Cassie, why would I steal a book? I don’t even like books!” said Gabriel.

“It could well have been one of us, though,” said Castiel. “You are not warded against angels! The collection should be secured.”

“Now,” laughed Bobby, “Cas, you’re a paranoid little bastard, my kind of person.”

Castiel looked confused.

“But I’m not gonna ward against you boys: you’re friends. I’ll tell you what you could do though. When you get back to your house, could you take a look around, see if maybe one of your brothers _forgot_ to return something?”

“Yes, we will return immediately and conduct a thorough search,” promised Castiel.

“But I’m only halfway through my driving lesson!” protested Gabriel.

“I will need your assistance, Gabriel,” said Castiel. “You are sneaky and underhanded!”

“Well, if you put it that way…” said Gabriel, grinning.

“Cas, I got a favor to ask,” said Dean. “I was wondering if I could bring Sammy by your place for the afternoon. We could set up his Nintendo, and he wouldn’t be a bother.”

“Of course Sam could come by!” said Castiel.

“He’s got a Nintendo?” asked Gabriel. “What about an Xbox?”

“Gabriel! You are supposed to be improving your grades,” lectured Cas.

“When did you turn into Michael?” asked Gabriel shrewdly.

“I’m not Michael!” protested Cas.

“Whoa! Wings down, boys!” laughed Bobby. “You’re welcome to borrow stuff from my library if you want, but I’m awfully persnickety about getting stuff back. So if you happen to turn up that book, if you could instill on the party in question, that’s the deal?”

“Yes, sir,” said Castiel, who elbowed Gabriel.

“Yes, Bobby,” said Gabriel. 

 

The very next day Bobby confronted a contrite-looking party of four boys gathered at his front door.. 

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” Raphael told Bobby. “This is completely inappropriate.” He solemnly handed to ancient volume over to Bobby.

“So, can I ask where it was?” asked Bobby with a studied casualness.

“It was hidden in Lucifer’s room,” said Castiel. 

“Eh. Not really hidden. Under the mattress. I could have done better,” said Gabriel.

“This does not mean Lucifer was necessarily the culprit,” said Raphael.

“Of course he was the culprit,” said Castiel.

“As I have stated before,” said Balthazar, taking a drag from his cigarette. “I believe we should contact our brother.”

“Your brother _Michael_?” asked Bobby. Balthazar nodded. “Yeah, that sounds reasonable.”

“Balthazar, don’t smoke here, it’s rude!” chided Raphael.

“Bobby, may I smoke upon your property?” asked Balthazar.

“Sure, as long as you ain’t near a propane tank,” said Bobby. Balthazar smirked at Raphael.

“Would you boys do me another favor?” asked Bobby.

“Anything,” said Raphael.

“Well,” said Bobby, holding up the book. “I admit, I got this book, but I’m not much for making out angelic squiggles.”

“You wish a translation?” said Raphael.

“Doesn’t have to be a full one, but a rundown of the kinds of spells that’s in this volume? Might come in useful.”

“Cassie is your man for that,” said Balthazar. “He is our Enochian scholar.”

“I will gladly do it for you, Bobby!” said Castiel, who puffed up visibly.

“I hate to be a pest, but you got some time this afternoon?” asked Bobby.

“Certainly!”

Balthazar made a big show of clearing his throat.

“I told you smoking would do that,” grumbled Raphael.

“Raphael?” prompted Balthazar.

“Oh,” said Raphael. “That.”

Bobby looked between the two angels. He was convinced that if Raphael’s skin had been paler, the boy would have been blushing as he shyly stuck out his hand with a flyer towards Bobby.

“Now, what’s this?”

“An evening of culture!” grinned Balthazar, clapping Raphael on the shoulder.

“Yuck,” said Gabriel.

“Um. There’s going to be a poetry reading. And, some of my works have been accepted,” muttered Raphael.

“Because I submitted them,” said Balthazar.

“Don’t feel obligated,” Raphael told Bobby.

“Wouldn’t miss it!” said Bobby, holding the paper. “I guess we all could use a little culture.”

“Can we get back to the Haunted Mansion now? Sammy brought his Nintendo!” whined Gabriel. 

“Do you have your homework done?” Raphael asked him.

“Well….”

“I can come back for you later, Cassie!” offered Balthazar.

“I will call Dean for a ride home,” said Castiel.

“I suppose you will,” said Balthazar with a smile. And then with a little wave and a soft rustle of wings, the three disappeared.

“Bobby, there is a reason why you wish for a quick translation,” said Castiel as Bobby handed the volume to him. It was not a question.

“Yeah. There is.”

“I do not trust my brother, Lucifer.”

“I gathered that. Look, Raph says he remembers your past lives. He ever fill you in on the details?”

Castiel shook his head.

Bobby nodded. “Well, there’s not a ton of material on you angels. It’s almost as if someone went in and scrubbed out all the religious texts: Bible, Koran, Torah. It’s all the same.”

“That is strange.”

“Well, yeah, it’s pretty strange. But from what I could tell, there are a whole bunch of rumors of some kind of pretty bad rift up there. And it seems the most likely culprits were Michael and Lucifer.”

“That is not what I would have expected. They have always gotten along,” said Castiel.

“Things ain’t always what they seem. Anyways, I’m getting a little peckish. What do you say we make some toasted cheese sandwiches and read angel spell books?”

“What is a toasted cheese sandwich? It’s food, right?” asked Castiel.

“Well, the way I make ‘em, some would say so,” said Bobby.

 

“Dean.”

“Oh. Uh. Hi, Dad,” said Dean. Dean had come home after class intending to grab a couple of things before he headed off pick up Cas. It was strange seeing his old man in his house. Although, as John had pointed out, it _was_ his house.

“Where’s Sam? I thought he’d be home by now,” said John.

“Uh. He’s at some friends. They’re playing Nintendo. It can get loud, so we didn’t wanna, you know, disturb you.”

“You can come in, you know. I’m not gonna kill you,” John told his son.

“Well, of course not, nowhere to hide the body,” said Dean.

John glared, but then it switched to a smile. Dean smiled and sat down opposite.

“You want some beer?”

“Oh, better not,” said Dean. “I’m heading off to study. With a friend.”

“You’re studying?” asked John, skeptically.

“I’m up to a B average,” said Dean. Even now, he found the news surprising.

“Really?” asked John.

“Really,” said Dean. “You gonna be home for a few days?”

“Yeah. I think so. We need to talk.”

Dean nodded. Though he was not quite sure what they were supposed to talk about.

“I’ve been thinking. About what Sam said,” John continued, his eyes watching Dean.

“What Sam said … when?” asked Dean.

“About homeschooling you guys.”

Dean felt a chill. “You said it was a dumb idea. For religious whack-a-dos. But now it’s not dumb, for some reason?” he asked.

“Well, then I could keep you boys with me.”

“I dunno, Dad,” said Dean.

“What’s wrong with it?”

 _Everything_ , thought Dean. “Because…. We have friends here. And, I’m doing OK in school, Sam is doing great, and he’s not getting picked on. For once!”

“He wouldn’t get picked on at all if I tutored him,” said John, glaring over his beer at Dean.

“Dad. You’re not gonna tutor Sam! You know damn well he could get into a good college. And me, I might even try the city college.”

“You? At college?” scoffed John.

“Why the hell not?” asked Dean, his cheeks burning.

“Dean, face it. You’re like me. You have no use for that crap.”

Dean struggled to keep calm. “Dad! We’re finally feeling like…. This is finally feeling kind of like a home. It’s not like when we had you and mom. But we’re doing OK. And you wanna take us away from it?”

John sat forward. “This is about that angel boy, isn’t it?”

“What if it is?” asked Dean, standing up. “Maybe you don’t like that I got somebody who will stand up for me, but I fucking like it.”

“You know what they did to your mother?” asked John darkly.

“No. And neither do you! Not after ten fucking years of dragging our asses around the country!”

“Dean….”

“No! You wanna throw your life away on that, go ahead! But no more taking me, and no more dragging Sammy in on this!”

John glared. “Sam is my boy. I don’t need your permission. If I want to go, and take my son, I’m gonna do it. You wanna ruin your life with some twisted little angel fuck, that is your business.”

Dean was glad he hadn’t accepted the beer, because if he’d had a bottle in his hand, at that moment, he wasn’t quite sure what he would have done.

Instead, tears in his eyes, he turned on his heel, and walked out the door, letting it slam, hard, on John Winchester.


	7. Hunger Pangs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas develops a taste toasted cheese sandwiches.

**Title:** Hunger Pangs (Flight Club, Chapter 7 of 8)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death  
 **Warnings:** Cursing.  
 **Word Count:** 38,000 total  
 **Summary:** John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.  
 **Notes:** This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.) 

 

“What’s going on, Bobby?” asked Dean when he showed up at Singer Salvage.

“Well, your angel’s gonna eat me outta house and home,” said Bobby, standing aside so Dean could enter.

“Hey, Cas,” sighed Dean.

“I like sandwiches!” said Castiel, who was sitting in a chair with an old book, a pad of paper, and a plate of cheese sandwiches all somewhat awkwardly balanced on his lap.

“Huh. Better than you like me?” asked Dean.

“Maybe!” smacked Castiel, who licked his fingers.

“Just don’t spill cheese on my damn angel book,” said Bobby.

“These are very good. Bobby puts them on the grill, and then the cheese melts!”

“You never seem that interested in food, Cas,” said Dean, sitting down on the couch opposite of Cas, and dearly wishing that a gut-load of toasted cheese sandwiches were all he needed to feel content right now.

“Yes. I’m not sure of the reason. I have been insatiably hungry these past few days,” said Castiel, who picked up another sandwich half and took a determined chomp.

“Who knew the way to an angel heart was Wonder bread and Velveeta,” laughed Bobby. “You having any luck with my damn translations, kid?”

“Yes,” said Castiel, gobs of cheese in his cheeks. “I have been meaning to point out something.”

“They got cheese sandwich recipes in there?”

“Oh. No,” said Castiel, rifling curiously through the pages. “Do you recall that Death said there were ways to utilize lost souls for the purposes of generating power?”

“Yeah?” asked Bobby. Dean found he was suddenly wrenched out of his foul mood. 

“Do you observe this section?” asked Castiel, who tipped over the book to show a series of purple sticky notes stuck on the pages.

“That’s a lot of pages,” said Bobby.

“Yes. There are several pages of invocations. But they are unusual, in that they call not an individual spirit, but a group.”

“So, basically a whole section of the book is about calling a mass of spirits?” asked Bobby.

“Yes! And then,” said Cas, rudely cramming what was left of his cheese sandwich in his mouth, “th’ spe’ a’ th’ endin’ is fo’-“

“Cas! Swallow and then speak!” ordered Bobby.

Castiel chewed the sandwich and gulped, and then reached over and guzzled some soda straight from a two liter bottle. “Then there is a spell at the end of the section for … here, let me quote….” Cas flipped through the pages. “Here lieth an invocation for to take in the grace of spirits that hath been summoned anon.”

“And grace is magic? Power?” asked Bobby.

Castiel nodded, and grabbed for another sandwich.

“This is Lucifer’s bedtime reading?” asked Dean.

“Worrisome, ain’t it?” said Bobby. “Cas-“

“We should tell my brothers. Yes. Can we make more cheese sandwiches first?” asked Cas, holding up the empty platter.

“Cas, you’re gonna turn into a damn cheese sandwich,” said Bobby, yanking away the plate. 

“Hey, maybe we could stop at Clownburger on the way to your place,” suggested Dean. “It’s on the way.”

“Yes, I will have a Clownburger deluxe and Clownfries and a Clownshake....”

 

Dean swore he head the sounds of Godzilla all the way from the driveway of the Haunted Mansion. 

“Hey, Sammy,” he shouted over the din to his brother who, along with Gabriel, was sitting on the floor in front of a giant flatscreen TV, battling radioactive kaiju.

“Let me finish this level!” Sam barked back.

“We're, uh, studying,” laughed Balthazar, who had been reclining on one of the couches. “Would you care to join us in a somewhat quieter room?”

“Is there anything to eat?” mumbled Castiel, who was still jamming a deluxe Clownburger into his mouth. He brushed past, Balthazar and Raphael, who had also come out to greet Dean.

Balthazar waved his hand in the opposite direction, and, with Dean giving a final puzzled glance at Cas, the three walked to a somewhat quieter sitting room.

“I dunno what's up with your brother,” said Dean. “He was eating Bobby out of house and home, and then we had to stop and get takeout on the way here.”

Balthazar collapsed onto a couch, bursting with laughter. “Oh, I know what's up!” he said. Raphael looked puzzled for a moment, and then smiled and nodded.

“What's up?” asked Dean, sitting down opposite of them.

Balthazar leaned forward conspiratorially. “Well, I won't tell him, as I wouldn't want to get his hopes up.”

“Fledging,” said Raphael.

“I'm sure it is,” nodded Balthazar.

“Makes you hungry?” asked Dean.

“Ravenous!” said Balthazar.

“Balthazar and Gabriel fledged at about the same time, and we couldn't keep food in the house,” laughed Raphael. 

“You go to the fridge and just devour everything! Down to the ice cube trays! And don't get your hands too near his mouth!” laughed Balthazar.

“Huh,” said Dean, who found his mind drifting to thoughts of whether this marvelous change might also make his friend horny. Of course, those thoughts then turned into other, darker thoughts of his father, and their chilling conversation. Leaving. And taking Sammy.

“Probably good you've come here, if you took him to your house, he'd probably have et poor little Sammy as a snack,” joked Balthazar.

“What?” asked Dean, as he'd been distracted. “Sammy? Oh, yeah, there's actually a reason I'm out here.” But Balthazar and Raphael had begun laughing again, so Dean turned to see his friend lumber into the room carrying a tray of what looked like more or less the contents of the refrigerator. 

“Are you gonna share, Cas?” asked Dean.

“No,” said Castiel.

Dean smiled. “I was just gonna tell them what you found about that stolen angel book.”

“Oh, right!” said Castiel, piling several random foodstuffs on a piece of bread. “There was a section on utilizing the power of restless spirits.”

Raphael's expression suddenly changed. “Do you think that is what Lucifer was using the book for?”

“It's a big section,” said Dean.

“And it was marked,” said Cas, pausing a moment from his sandwich construction to pull something out of his pocket and toss it on the table.

Raphael picked it up and frowned.

“It's a condom wrapper!” Castiel supplied knowledgeably, as Raphael cast a glance at Dean.

“You're probably supposed to pretend you don't know that,” laughed Balthazar.

“Flavored,” smiled Dean. 

“Strawberry,” chuckled Balthazar.

“Did you tell Bobby you had found this?” asked Dean.

“I did not think it was advisable,” said Castiel. “I think Bobby may have not reacted well to finding such an item in one of his texts.”

“Joking aside,” said Raphael, “we need to bring this to Michael's attention. And probably the sooner the better.”

“Well, can't he just zap over here?” asked Dean.

Balthazar and Raphael exchanged a significant glance, and Balthazar rolled his eyes. “I need a cigarette,” he exclaimed.

“Michael is attending the Republican National Convention. He is a Romney delegate.”

“And he, uh, takes this stuff seriously?” asked Dean.

“He takes this stuff very seriously,” said Balthazar.

“We are quite literally not supposed to call him,” said Raphael.

“Not even on the telephone,” said Balthazar.

“You guys got other ways to call him?” asked Dean. As if in answer, there was suddenly a voice inside his head, speaking a strange language. Dean recognize it: it was Enochian.

“Cassie, that's rude,” chided Balthazar.

“Dean likes when I speak Enochian!” protested Castiel.

“We can speak. And hear. But only in Enochian,” said Raphael.

“That seems perfect,” said Dean.

“It's a bit flawed,” confessed Balthazar. “Some human situations are very difficult to convey in the angelic language. A sandwich, for example!” he said, pointing to the monstrosity that Castiel was assembling. “As angels – real angels – don't eat, they don't have need for many words for foodstuffs.”

“I don't think there's any word for that thing in English,” laughed Dean. “Hey, Cas, you're gonna need another mouth!”

“Why would I need that?” asked Castiel, who did indeed seem flummoxed by the gargantuan sandwich. And then a light bulb appeared to go on in his head. Something flashed, and Cas, still holding his angel sword, crammed a bit of the sandwich that he had just sliced off into his mouth.

Balthazar literally fell off the couch laughing. All Raphael could come up with was a strangled, “I don't think you're supposed to use the angel sword … for that.”

“Hey, could you cut me a piece?” asked Dean. Castiel courteously obliged.

“What happened to the kitchen!” wailed Gabriel, who had just entered, along with Sam. “Were we hit by a plague of locusts. Oh shit! Cas! That's our food.”

“It's delicious!” said Castiel.

“Was one of you guys doing a summoning?” asked Sam.

The room grew quiet. 

Sam held up a plastic salad bowl. “I don't wanna be nosy, but I noticed this sitting out in the kitchen sink. It's all charred around the inside, like ours was when we lit up the stuff. You need to use the ceramic bowls for that stuff I guess.”

Sam looked up. Both Dean and Raphael were now standing over him, looking at the bowl.

“Cas. The spells for using the souls?” said Dean. “Did you look through them at all?”

Castiel reluctantly put aside his sandwich and came over to look at the bowl as well. He took it from Sam, and took a long smell.

“Sage,” he said after a pause. He brushed his fingertips along the bowl and watched as he crumbled the ashed. “Wormwood.” He nodded. “Sam is correct. This bowl may have been used for some kind of evocation rite.”

“Cas. You remember when we were chasing the werewolf? The spirits were thick as mosquitos out there. But then they all left?”

“I had thought because you slew the werewolf,” said Castiel.

“But what if that's not what it was?” asked Dean. Castiel was silent. “We heard wings, Cas.”

Raphael scowled and took out his cell phone. He set it to speaker and tossed it on the coffee table. 

“Raphael. I've requested that you keep contact to a minimum,” came Michael's chastening voice. There was an echo to his voice, as if Michael too had put his line on speaker. There was a lot of noise in the background: it sounded like either a riot or a really great party.

“Michael. You are gonna find some place quiet. And then you are gonna fucking listen to me.”

“Raph-”

“YOUR BROTHER LUCIFER IS EATING SOULS,” snapped Raphael.

There was a pause, and then the noise suddenly quieted, and when Michael's voice came back, it was close, as if he had turned off his speakerphone. “Wait. I'm gonna go to another room. Wait for me. Wait....”

 

“I haven't been to a place like this since I can't remember,” laughed Bobby.

Dean smiled and sipped his coffee. The club was small but crowded, mostly with college-aged kids. Up on stage, a girl in a black leotard was doing some kind of confusing dance while a guy picked somewhat clumsily on a guitar. 

Dean had entered the club along with Bobby, Cas, Raph and Balthy. But Balthy was immediately swallowed up by a veritably tide of cute young girls, all of whom seemed to know and adore him. He grinned back and gave a mock helpless shrug, and then accompanied them off to a corner of the club, where there's a couple by his side and another, giggling, in his lap.

Poor Raphael had been too nervous to even pretend to sip at the coffee he'd ordered, so he had disappeared in the back, muttering some excuse. So it was just Dean and Bobby and Cas, sitting crowded at a table, Cas craning his neck to look around in wonder, Bobby sitting back and looking like he was having the time of his life.

“You ever hear any of your brother's stuff before?” Bobby asked Cas.

“According to Balthazar, it is quite good.”

“Can't be worse than the current act,” muttered Dean.

“So, I hate to ask now, but you think your brother is gonna take care of the mess with Lucifer?” Bobby asked Castiel.

Castiel was busy signaling to a waitress, who plopped a selection of baked goods in front of him. The ravenous hunger had subsided somewhat, but Dean was still amazed at how much food the guy could put away. “I wish I had a more reassuring answer for you, Bobby,” said Cas, digging into a blueberry scone. “Michael wished to confront Lucifer alone. But I do not believe we will get the answers we seek.”

“Well, at the very least, Lucy knows we got him in our sights. And I got my book where he can't get his grubby hands on it no more,” said Bobby.

“Please reveal no more about the situation of the book,” warned Castiel. “I do not want the knowledge to inadvertently get back to my brother.”

“Ha! Cas, you are one grumpy-ass paranoid kid,” laughed Bobby, clapping the angel on the shoulder. “I would adopt ya as my own, only I could never keep you in grub.”

Castiel actually stopped eating to blink at Bobby. The smile that often almost arrived suddenly flushed over into a real one. And then Bobby himself smiled and looked away. “Go back to your food, idjit,” he said, ruffing Castiel's hair.

“Hey, look, there he is!” said Dean.

The club quieted noticeably as Raphael came to stand at the podium on the small stage. The quiet subdued to absolute silence as Raphael took a glance around the club. His eyes were piercing.

And then he looked down again, and began to read.

_The sky broke open  
And I saw what you'd done  
I saw what you'd left behind  
Poisoned ashes  
Drained through my hand  
The glorious sound of your golden horn  
Shrill in the distance_

_The sky broke open  
Thousands wailed at your wake  
Crying for you  
But you were already gone  
Leaving me cursed  
And bleeding_

 

“Your brother? Kind of a downer,” Dean whispered to Cas.

Castiel leaned over and put his lips near Dean's ear. “This is actually fairly light. For him.” 

“Really? No shit?”

“There are usually far more casualties,” said Cas. They both looked up guiltily as the club erupted into applause and some snapping of fingers. Bobby nudged them, and they started to applaud. Raphael was persuaded to read a few more works, which, as Cas had suggested, became ever more morbid, and which correspondingly received more and more acclaim.

When Raphael finally returned to the table, he had to make his way through several groups of his brand new sycophants. He sat down, looking more than a little stunned. He was soon engulfed in a great bear hug by Balthazar, who had come up behind him.

“An artiste is born!” exclaimed Balthazar.

“I feel … a little shaky,” admitted Raphael.

“Hey, Balthy,” said Dean. He nodded over to the corner where Balthazar had been sitting. “What's up with the harem.”

Balthazar grinned and aimed a little wave at his fans. “As you know,” he said quietly, “we all have our gifts. Raphael here remembers his past lives, Cassie can speak our language, Gabriel is an adept user of magic. And me? I'm hopelessly fabulous!”

Dean slid his eyes over to Cas, to see if it was a joke. Cas shrugged as Bobby laughed his ass off.

“Would you all mind,” asked Raphael, “if we got some air?”

“You sure you don't wanna collect some phone numbers, dude?” asked Dean, noticing all the college girls who were suddenly making eyes at Raphael.

“I'm a little overwhelmed,” said Raphael. “And I'm concerned about Michael's meeting. I don't have any messages,” he said, holding up his cell phone.

“I could use a smoke,” said Balthazar. “Let's step out for some air.”

The alley in back of the club was deserted at this hour. 

“I wonder why Michael hasn't called. You suppose I should leave him a message?” asked Raphael. He hit a speed dial button, and then listened to what was apparently an automated message. “It's Raphael. Call us when you can,” he said, shutting off the call. “It's just going to voice mail.”

“Is this like him?” asked Bobby.

“Very. He probably just plain forgot to inform the little folk what was happening,” sighed Balthazar, grabbing his pack of Marlboros. He mouthed a cigarette, and then brought out a match and struck it.

The match flamed. Dean watched as the flame floated downwards when it was released from Balthazar's shaking hand. “Balthy?” asked Dean. The angel's mouth was open, and he was staring.

“Brother!” came Gabriel's voice, and the small angel tumbled out of nowhere, nearly tackling Raphael. “Brother!” repeated Gabriel, now clinging to his elder brother.

“Cas! What the hell...?” asked Dean, turning to his friend. Castiel stood, still as a statue, tears streaming down his eyes.

“Dean. Our brother. Our brother … is dead,” Cas finally gasped.

Dean grabbed Castiel's arm. All of the blood was drained from Cas' face.

“Cas,” said Bobby. “You tell me. You tell me now. Which brother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, just an FYI if you've read this far: I'm going to a con tomorrow, so I might be late getting the last chapter up. It's pretty much finished, so don't worry, I won't leave you hanging, but if Chapter 8 is not up Wednesday, don't panic.


	8. The Good Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel perfidy. And a surprise.

**Title:** The Good Fight (Flight Club, Chapter 8 of 8)  
 **Fandom:** Supernatural  
 **Author:** tikistitch  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas; Sam, John, Bobby, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Balthazar, Joshua, Death  
 **Warnings:** Cursing.   
**Word Count:** 38,000 total  
 **Summary:** John abandons teenaged Sam and Dean in Sioux Falls for the school year, where our young hunters-to-be befriend a strange boy who claims he and his brothers are angels of the Lord. Well, he's got a pretty cool sword anyway. The plot thickens when young Sammy wonders why there are so many restless spooks in the neighborhood, leading the boys to decide that calling out for pizza and Death is a wicked awesome idea. Hijinks ensue.  
 **Notes:** This is a high school AU, but since I can never do these things correctly, angels are still angels. (And some of them are still dickbags.) 

 

“That shit smells awful!” opined Gabriel.

“It's not supposed to be fragrant,” said Bobby. “Now, you go get me some myrrh.”

“I got it,” said Gabriel, who disappeared.

“I had never seen anyone recover so quickly from a wing clipping,” said Raphael grimly. The group has adjourned to Bobby's immediately after receiving the news about Michael. The old hunter had claimed that he had a spell that would prevent any and all other magical processes in the vicinity: a kind of neutron bomb for conjuration, although sadly none of the boys had understood the clever reference.

The angels who remained in Bobby's living room were subdued. 

“You sure your brother … is dead?” Dean asked Castiel.

Castiel looked at him sadly. “I no longer hear his voice,” he said. He shook his head. 

“I could never have imagined this,” said Balthazar.

“It's always those two,” said Raphael. “I think it's fated. We can't escape.”

“We can sure as hell make Lucy pay,” said Bobby.

“Cas, if you can't track Michael any more, can you see Lucifer?” asked Dean.

Castiel nodded. “He is near.”

“He came back here?” asked Balthazar.

“Yeah, makes sense,” said Bobby. “The book is here, or at least he thought it was. And his souls are here. Waiting.”

“I.... I'm overdue at home. I told Sammy I'd be back by now. Way before now,” said Dean.

“Your father will be there?” asked Castiel. There was a warning tone in his voice.

“It will be OK, Cas.”

“Perhaps...” said Balthazar, catching Raphael's eye. “Perhaps Castiel and I could escort you? Just to be … safe?”

Although Dean was never sure whether the angels wanted to protect him from Lucifer or from his father, he nodded. Balthazar touched him and Castiel, and suddenly, he was in his own house.

“Sammy! I'm sorry I'm late!” yelled Dean. He looked around.

“Has he gone to bed?” asked Balthazar. 

“I.... I do not think he is here,” said Castiel.

“What? Sammy!' yelled Dean, throwing open the door to Sam's room. He ran inside, and then ran to his own room, and then the master bedroom. “Sammy!” he shouted. 

All turned to the sound of a truck pulling up the driveway.

“Dad. It's my dad,” said Dean. “Shit! I know what happened.”

John opened the door, and immediately had Dean in his face. “Where is Sammy?” Dean demanded.

“Dean,” said Balthazar quietly.

“What do you mean?” asked John, the smell of alcohol on his breath. “Who the hell is this?” he added indicating Balthazar.

“You took Sam!” accused Dean.

“Where is Sam?” asked John.

“You said you were gonna take him, and you took him!” shouted Dean. He lunged forward, but found himself restrained by Castiel. “Cas! Lemme go.”

“Dean. It wasn't your father,” said Balthazar.

“Are you another fucking angel?” John asked Balthazar.

“Yes, I am Balthazar Malakhim, and I-” Balthazar stopped, caught John's sucker punch and deftly wrenched his arm around in back of him. “I don't care for fisticuffs.”

“Dean! It's our brother!” said Castiel.

Dean wrenched himself from Castiel's grasp. “You think Lucifer took him?” Dean asked. Castiel nodded. “Why?”

“Dean, what the fuck is going on? Tell me now!” said John as Balthazar released him.

“Hey you guys!” yelled Gabriel as he suddenly appeared in the middle of the living room.

“Good God, is that another one?” asked John.

“Gabriel! We think Lucifer took Sam,” said Castiel.

“I know! I know! He called Raph,” said Gabriel. “Bobby sent me to get you. Come on,” he said, touching Dean and Cas, and then with a rustle of wings the three were gone.

Balthazar shrugged and reached over to John. “This won't hurt. Much,” he said. And then in an instant John was reeling inside Bobby Singer's living room.

“Bobby! What the fuck is going on!”

But Bobby grabbed John by the shoulders and put a hand over his mouth, shaking his head. Keeping a grip on John's arm, he dragged him over to where several people were now hunched over a cell phone set to speaker.

“So, it's not a hostage situation, Lucifer?” asked Raphael. He looked up nervously at Bobby.

Bobby mouthed “keep talking” to Raphael, who nodded. Bobby went to where Gabriel was sitting by a desktop computer. He leaned over the angel to view the screen.

 _“Of course not!”_ came Lucifer's smooth voice from the other end. _“How silly. The little human boy is just fine. Just fine! He's just tucked away. So we can talk!”_

“Well, here we are, talking,” said Raphael. “Uh. What did you want to talk about tonight?”

_“I'm using a book. I'm sure it's quite beyond your comprehension! Any of you.”_

“Yes, I've always been slow,” said Raphael.

_“But someone took it away and hid it from me! Probably that grubby hunter.”_

“Oh,” said Raphael. “How rude.”

_“Uppity humans. They cannot comprehend me, do you understand? I'm just doing what's best for them!”_

“Yes, Lucifer.”

_“What they've done to the planet! They're going to kill it, Raphael. They're going to choke it! That's why our Father put us here! To save it! To save them!”_

“Yes, Lucifer, I see. So, how can I help you? How can we help you?”

_“Oh, don't patronize me, Raphael.”_

“I'm not patronizing. I am asking how I can help. In your mission.”

_“Yes! Someone is blocking me. I need to go forward with my plan, but there's some kind of big, tacky human spell stopping me.”_

“Oh. You know who is casting it, Lucifer? Because I bet I know,” said Raphael, who suddenly cast his dark eyes at John.

_“No, who is it?”_

“John Winchester,” said Raphael. “The human hunter. He's here. He hates angels. He hates us all.”

There was a pause. _“John Winchester. Yes. I know him. I know him well.”_

John looked puzzled.

“So, Lucifer?” said Raphael. “It is very, very important that no harm come to the Winchester boy. Is that clear? Very, very important you keep him alive. As, uh, a negotiating tactic.”

_“Yes, yes, he's still breathing.”_

Raphael looked up in horror, but then steeled himself and continued. “So, if we can contact John, that will help you.”

_“Contact him? Put a sword through his neck.”_

“That won't be easy,” said Raphael. “Hunters are wily!” He looked up, and Bobby, who was still at the computer monitor, was signaling thumbs up. “All right, Lucifer? We'll try to locate John, see where he's holed up, and we'll get back to you. OK?”

 _“Sooner. Rather than later,”_ warned Lucifer. And then the line went dead.

“What did he mean?” asked Raphael, looking up with tears in his eyes. “He said Sam was OK. And then....”

“Raph, you did good, so steady,” said Bobby. 

“Where is Lucifer?” asked Castiel.

“Looks like he's at your place,” said Bobby.

“Then I will go kill him,” said Castiel, who had a sword out.

“I'm coming with you,” said John.

“No!” said Bobby.

“Bobby! We don't know how much time we have!” said Dean.

“We're not goin' anywhere without a plan!” insisted Bobby.

“I got a plan!” said Gabriel. “I'm gonna go clip his fucking wings!”

“He cannot stand up to all of us,” said Castiel.

“Maybe he can,” said Balthazar. “We don't know how many souls he's absorbed, Cassie.”

“Wait!” shouted Raphael. “Gabriel! What did you say just now?”

“I'll clip his fucking wings!” shouted Gabriel.

“Bobby,” said Raphael. “I think I have an idea. Using.... Using Lucifer's vanity.”

“Then it's a winner,” said Bobby. “What is it?”

 

John sat out on Bobby Singer’s porch, he and Bobby loading salt ammo into shotguns. Bobby had grunted for John to help him, and then that was all anyone had said to him since the phone call.

“Salt isn’t gonna do much fucking good against, angels,” said John.

“It’s especially not gonna do good against a crazy ass angel who’s just been snacking on souls.”

“You think Lucifer is crazy?” asked John.

“I think that goes without sayin’ at this point. But, yeah, I don't think he was ever wrapped up too tight. And Cas tells me there’s a ton of warnings on those spells that gobbling souls don’t do much for your disposition.”

“Castiel,” growled John. “You trust those angels?”

“Maybe more’n I trust you right now.”

“What the fuck, Bobby?” said John, laying down the gun. “You’ve been riding my ass since I came back! They took my boy! Do you need more proof?”

“Cas didn’t take your boy, and neither did any of the kids you saw tonight,” said Bobby, not looking up from his gun. 

“You got nothing to say to me?”

“John. I got a fuckload to say to you. But we got work to do, and I ain’t currently got time to kick your fucking idjit ass in the manner it richly fucking deserves.” He stopped and glared at John. “You didn’t come to Sioux Falls ‘cause of me, and it sure wasn’t to keep your boys in school. You wanted in to that house on the hill, and you knew your boy Dean would find a way.”

“That’s not…” John sputtered. 

“I don’t know if Lucifer had something to do with your wife or not. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. According to his brother, Raph, he’s had it in for humankind since the beginning of time. That’s a pretty big grudge. But you throwing those boys in the middle? Your boys?”

“I didn’t think it would go this far! Do you think I would have if I knew Sam would be in danger? If I know Dean was fucking stupid enough to start … sleeping with one of them?”

Bobby didn’t reply for a long moment, but went back to loading his gun. “John Winchester. You threw a teenage boy – and not just any boy, but your boy, Dean – in with a mob of the most beautiful and mysterious and glorious and just plain fucking intriguing critters in God’s creation, who also happen to be currently manifested as a bunch of hormone-addled human teenagers, and … what? You expected everybody to just keep their hands to themselves? That was one great fucking plan, John. One great. Fucking. Plan.”

John bit his lip. He decided to try another tack. “Bobby! Don’t you care who murdered Mary?”

“Like I said, this ain’t the time. But I’ll tell you something. At some point, you gotta decide whether you wanna be husband to a dead wife, or father to two live boys. Now, shut the fuck up and load your damn gun. Before I shoot you myself.”

 

Lucifer was bored.

Bored bored bored.

Really, shouldn't taking over the world be a bit more … fun?

The stupid human boy had left his Nintendo in their home. That was sort of fun, but you really needed an opponent to slay in these games. He considered for a moment going to grab the boy out of where he had stashed him, just for an hour or so of entertainment. But then he decided against it. The boy was stupid, and would probably try escaping or something ridiculous like that, and then Lucifer would have to chop of his feet, or something equally tiresome.

He had been planning this for so long. Since before they were exiled here. His Father probably thought this was a big joke, trapping Lucifer – glorious Lucifer – in the pathetic body of one of those naked monkeys. But Lucifer would have the last laugh. Once he had notice of what was to happen, he had only to place the wardings against the reapers, and then let nature take its course. And then, of course, locating the book. His Father had put them only a few miles from Bobby’s Singer’s library: how fortunate!

He looked up from his game when the front door opened. His brothers? Well, that was a little weird. Perhaps they were coming around to his side? But he doubted it. They were probably coming to plead for the human. Maybe he would have them go down on their knees! That would be amusing.

He was not prepared, however, for what he saw.

Raphael and Gabriel stood before him, in all their winged glory.

“My brothers,” said Lucifer, hitting pause on the Nintendo. “Why do you do me this honor?”

Raphael shook his soft brown wings. “Brother,” he said, bowing formally. “We have thought, long and hard about what you said. We realized,” he said, looking at Gabriel, who nodded and fluffed his own light-feathered wings, “that we are angelkind. We are not like them. We should always appear to them in our full glory.”

“Well, this is a pleasant change,” said Lucifer.

“But those guys weren't buying it!” warned Gabriel.

“Yes. Um,” said Raphael. “Unfortunately, our brothers, Balthazar and Castiel, have allied themselves with the humans.”

“And they're coming!' said Gabriel.

“They have.... They have a ridiculous plan to lay siege to us,” said Raphael. “I wouldn't take it too seriously.”

“Of course not,” said Lucifer.

“But we thought to meet them, you know, in our glory,” said Raphael, giving his wings a little flap. Some stray papers scudded off the coffee table.

The three looked up at the sound several vehicles pulling in the driveway. It wasn't hard to miss, as a couple of them had their stereos at full blast.

“They drove in cars? How adorable,” said Lucifer. “The internal combustion engine. You know, it will be first on my list for extinction. When we have our glorious day!” 

“Yes, Lucifer,” said Raphael.

And then Lucifer ripped off his shirt, and unfurled his glorious, sandy-colored wings. He also drew his sword, as did Raphael and Gabriel. The three stood side by side as a ridiculously motley party of humans and angels stormed inside, carrying guns and swords: Bobby, John, Dean, Castiel and Balthazar, all yelling and making a commotion.

“You'll pay for this, Lucifer!” screamed Balthazar, who was at the front of the pack, waving his sword. He lunged at Lucifer, but Raphael got in front of him, and the two traded blows.

“This is cool,” said Lucifer, thinking it was too bad Balthazar hadn’t chosen to be winged. Angelic sword fights were way more awesome than Nintendo. “Isn't it, brother Gabriel? Gabriel?”

He looked to Gabriel.

Who wasn't there.

Lucifer screamed, going down in a spray of feathers and blood. He waved a hand, and suddenly, Gabriel was wrenched off his back and slammed against the wall, his angel sword flying from his hand. Dean dropped his gun and ran to him, feeling desperately for a pulse. 

Lucifer was on his feet, staring, horrified, at his clipped wing.

“You idiots!” he shrieked. “You can clip me, but I'm still more powerful than all of you combined!” He waved his hand again, and Balthazar and Raphael, who had stopped their fake fight, went flying through the air.

Bobby and John both unloaded their shotguns at Lucifer, which only seemed to irritate him.

“Are you two stupid?” he asked. He gestured, and the guns flew to his hand, where he easily bent them like balloon animals. 

John was charging Lucifer with some kind of dagger, which the angel easily flicked away, and then sent John crashing into a glass coffee table. “Dad!” yelled Dean.

“I liked that coffee table!” screamed Raphael, who this time tried a frontal attack on his brother. Lucifer flicked a hand, and Raphael was down again, his nose squirting blood.

“Now for the last time-” huffed Lucifer.

And then, quite suddenly, to the soft sound of beating wings, Lucifer disappeared.

“What the fuck?” asked Balthazar, who had just leapt to his feet.

“Where did he go?” asked Bobby, who was helping up John.

“Where is Cas?” asked Dean.

 

Lucifer looked down, amused.

Thanks to the perfidy of his idiot brothers, he was presently flightless. And he was being held suspended by his ankle over an active volcano by another idiot brother: the stupidest of the lot.

He had enough power to kill or cripple Cas, of course, thanks to the spirits within him. But, as he was flightless, then it would just be the both of them tumbling into hot lava that was bubbling below. Which really wouldn't do either of them much good.

Where did you find an active volcano if South Fucking Dakota?

Well, all things considered, not the worst spot he'd ever gotten himself into.

“Castiel-”

“Where is Sam?”

Lucifer sighed, a great heaving upside-down sigh. This would be difficult. But really, not unworkable. He looked up to his brother, great dark wings arched, blue eyes blazing. Our own little angel of vengeance. How terribly cute. Lucifer cleared his mind by imagining swatting the little bastard with a giant fly swatter. Until he was just a little lump of Castiel goo.

“I was talking to Joshua about you. Do you know what he said about you?”

“Where is Sam?”

“Joshua said you might end up the most powerful of the lot of us. What do you think of that?”

As if in reply, Castiel swooped lower, closer to the magma, nearly frying off Lucifer's hair.

“Watch it!” warned Lucifer.

“Where is Sam?”

“Castiel, for once in your life, think. Our brothers, they're worthless! I mean, when Michael clobbered you the other day, did a single one rise up for you?”

“Where. Is. Sam.”

“They'd rather just sit and bitch. But you and me? We're different from them.”

“Lucifer. Where THE FUCK is Sam?”

“We get things done! We stand up for what we believe!”

“I am growing impatient, Lucifer.”

Lucifer looked up. Not a brain in this one's head. “Look, what if we do this? When we get back, no more Michael.”

“No. You killed him. Where is Sam? HE HAD BETTER NOT BE HARMED.”

“Sam is fine.”

“Where is he?”

“Once we get back, it will be you and me in charge! We are obviously the leaders, aren't we? Now, I know you must disagree with some of my methods, but I believe we can all arrive at the same place.”

“We are not in the same place. We will never be in the same place. Where is Sam?”

“Will you lay off perseverating about that miserable little human and listen to me?”

“Tell me where Sam is, and I will let you go,” promised Castiel.

Lucifer frowned. Well, it wasn't a great deal, but his hair was smoking. “I put him in that stupid cloister. Where you idiots dug up the saints bones. Now. Let me go.”

Castiel smiled. But it was not a nice smile.

“As you wish,” he said.

Lucifer barely had time to scream.

 

“The convent. He's in the convent,” said Castiel.

“I’m on it!” said Gabriel. And he was gone. He returned in an instant, Sam in his arms.

“Sammy,” said John.

“You OK, kiddo?” asked Bobby, as Gabriel carefully set him to his feet. Sam looked grubby but unharmed.

“Uncle Bobby!” yelled Sam, who rushed to Bobby's arms, burying his face in Bobby’s chest.

“You're OK, Sammy,” grinned Bobby. “You're OK.”

“I wasn't scared,” sobbed Sam.

“I know you weren't. Come on, kid,” he said, lowering himself to his knees so he could look Sam in the eye. “We'll take you to a doc now and get you checked out. All right?”

A weeping Sam nodded and Bobby caught his hand and led him out. 

John Winchester stood behind, looking like someone had just driven a stake through his heart.

“Dad,” said Dean. He nodded at the older Winchester, and John meekly followed Sam and Bobby out the door.

Dean paused one moment by Castiel. He held his shoulder and mouthed, “Thanks.” And then he was out the door too.

“Castiel,” said Raphael, who was nursing what looked like a broken nose. “What happened to Lucifer?”

Castiel glared and gave his dark wings a flap. “I have returned him to our father,” he said.

“Are you wings smoking?” asked Balthazar.

Castiel shook out his wings. “Volcano,” he said.

“No fucking shit? You dumped Lucy in a volcano?” asked Gabriel, who was sitting propped up on a couch.

“Yes. I dumped Lucy in a volcano,” said Castiel.

“I wish...” said Raphael. “I wish I could have seen the look on the motherfucker's face.”

“Just for the record, none of us are going to chide Castiel for killing our brother?” asked Balthazar.

“Oh, fuck no!” said Gabriel.

“Murdering bastard deserved it,” grumbled Raphael. “He is always like this. You give him every chance in the world. And it always happens.”

“Well,” said Balthazar. “Well, I think we should note that Castiel is clearly fledged.”

“Oh, yeah, congrats dude!” said Gabriel. He put up his hand for what Castiel now recognized was a high five.

Castiel smiled slightly, and slapped Gabriel's hand. But then the tears came, and three angels, his brothers, gathered around him.

 

Dean awoke, alone in his bed.

It was a big bed. Well, a bigger bed. He and his dad had gone to get it, with not much comment from John other than to stay the hell out of the master bedroom from now on. 

It had been part of a small bout of their father’s generosity. Sam had gotten a battered but nicely rebuilt laptop and way too many video games. John said it was near enough to Christmas. Both Dean and Sammy had told John that what they really wanted was for him to stick around this year, though he was kind of quiet about that. He had kind of vaguely promised to be around more often, but Dean could feel he was itching to take off again. Sammy would take it hard, Dean thought, but he was getting used to it. 

The door opened quietly, and Cas crept in, clutching a bowl of … something. As it turned out, the fledging thing did make him hornier, but he also remained hungrier than usual. Balthazar had opined that he was using a lot of grace somehow, but wasn’t certain how it worked. 

“Oh, did you want some ice cream?” Cas asked politely as he hopped back on the bed. 

Dean pulled closer. “I want you to finish your damn ice cream and then get back out of those pants,” he said, indicating the jeans Cas had pulled on to make the kitchen raid.

“Sure,” said Cas agreeably, mouthing ice cream.

Dean lay on his back, watching his friend. He hadn't seen him for what seemed like forever, except for a few quick conversations at school. It had been just a few days, but all of the Malakhim brothers had grown very quiet and withdrawn for a time. He wasn't completely surprised when Sam caught the newspaper article about two local boys perishing in a small plane crash. Michael had been learning to fly a small airplane, and crashed into a mountain. Maybe a bit of a joke on their part, though a grim one.

Dean had been surprised when Cas had called today about coming over. There had been so many things Dean wanted to say to him, but then one thing had led to another, and they hadn't spent a whole lot of time talking.

“So, you’re fledged, right?” Dean finally asked. Cas nodded, a bit of ice cream running down his chin. Dean grinned and reached over and wiped it off with two fingers. “So if you wanted to, you could just zap out of here and zap back with ice cream?”

“I suppose so,” said Castiel.

“Or just zap it into your hand. I mean, like Gabe does?”

Castiel considered. “It seems wasteful, doesn’t it? All that zapping?” He looked at Dean for a time, even pausing in his eating. “What was it you really wanted to ask?” he said.

“Cas. You.... You dunked your brother in a volcano? I mean, like the Lord of the Rings?” asked Dean.

“I.... I understand that reference!” said Castiel, wonder in his eyes. He had spent rather a lot of time in the library these past few years. 

“Heh. Probably not, actually,” said Dean, leaning back. “I was thinking of the movie version.”

“Oh. Sam is OK?” asked Cas, artfully changing the subject.

“He's fine! He was just a little shaken up. He was asking about you, though.”

Castiel nodded. 

“You're gonna start walking him home again? He's got a new Nintendo game. A couple of them. Dad is kind of spoiling him.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that, Dean. What you father said?”

“About...?”

Castiel breathed out. “About going away with him.”

“Look, you don't have to worry, I'm not gonna do that! And your brother Raphael said....”

“I think you should seriously consider doing it,” said Castiel, who was now just poking at his ice cream.

“Why the hell should we do that?” asked Dean, suddenly sitting bolt upright.

“Dean, think! What if something had happened to Sam? I could not forgive myself.”

“What? You didn't take him.”

“My brother did! My brother tried to hurt you! Do you know how powerful we are? How dangerous?” Cas was glaring at him.

Dean felt like he'd been slapped. He couldn't believe he was hearing this. 

“It might be safer for your family-” Cas started.

Dean took a breath. He wound up. “OK, Cas, you know something? Stop right there! And right now! Because you know what? You're a fucking rerun. I've heard this same fucking story my whole life. From my dad. 'You stay back here, Dean, you'll get hurt.' Well, fuck that! I am sick and tired as fuck of being dumped! You got me! You're stuck with me! And.... And I'm a hunter, so even if you try and run away, I'll fucking hunt you down! You'll never, ever get rid of me! You hear?”

Castiel paused, obviously only a fraction of the way through a well-prepared speech. There were tears in his eyes. “I didn't really want you to go,” he whispered. “But I thought I should....”

“OK, it's settled, it's done, and we never mention it again!” announced Dean.

“Well...” Castiel started to say, but then Dean was shutting him up definitively with a kiss. Dean grabbed the bowl and set it down on the floor.

Cas leaned over and grabbed the bowl back. “I just have a little more in the bottom!”

“You’re still hungry, huh?” asked Dean, who was already fiddling with Cas' pants.

“Uh-huh. Joshua says I’m going to be powerful.”

“Wait. Joshua?” asked Dean, who was suddenly distracted again. “You mean your older brother, Joshua?”

“He was just talking to me in my dream. We can visit each other in our dreams. Had I told you that?”

“More weird angel stuff? OK,” said Dean. “So, what else did Joshua say?”

“Well,” said Castiel, considering the dregs of his ice cream. “He agrees with you, that I should keep you guys as my friends. He says my weaknesses will be my strengths. I didn’t know what that meant, it sounded like something weird Balthazar would say.”

“Huh,” said Dean. It did sound weird. Maybe Sammy or Bobby would know?

“I asked if he was going to come back. You know, since Michael and Lucifer are gone? Raphael doesn’t really wanna lead the family, you know. He wants to write depressing poetry. But Joshua said we’re going to have a sign. From our Father.”

“A sign? What kind of sign?” asked Dean.

“No clue,” said Castiel. “Do I look like a prophet?”

“You look … like an angel,” said Dean, who moved in to kiss him as Castiel very carefully held the bowl upright. “But you taste like Rocky Road.”

“This is really good!” said Castiel, pointing to the bowl. “Would you mind if I had just one more bowl?”

“Cas!”

Then Castiel’s cell phone rang.

“Whatever it is, ignore it!” pleaded Dean as Cas wriggled over to answer it. Cas listened in silence for a long moment.

“Dean,” said Castiel.

“WHAT?”

“I think we have the sign.”

 

“Weird to think I just shot the little bastard the other day!” grinned Bobby, who was hefting a very cute, sandy-haired baby. “Are you a cute little devil? Yes you are!” he laughed as the infant cooed.

They were all standing around the Haunted Mansion: three angels who resembled teenage boys, three humans, and two gurgling infants.

“So these could be my little brothers?” asked Sam, who was rubbing the tummy of the dark-haired kid that a stunned looking Raphael was holding.

Dean and Castiel looked at each other. “Uh. Well, sort of. I guess,” said Dean.

“I’ll show them how to play Nintendo!” promised Sam.

“Can't we give them away to gypsies?” whined Gabriel.

“Naw, I don’t think so,” said Bobby.

“What about the fairies?” prompted Gabriel. “I bet the fairies would take ‘em!”

“Take your little brothers?” laughed Bobby. “I think fairies are little smarter than that.”

“Shit,” said Gabriel.

“Raph,” said Bobby, “what you guys used to do, you used to get nannies and a lot of help from the town. You want me to take some calls?”

Raphael, who was looking drawn and utterly confused, nodded. “I will need a babysitter. As I have … a date?”

“With who?” asked Dean immediately.

“Um,” said Raphael. “A girl who came to my poetry reading? Denise Hess....”  
“Not Denise Hesselbacher?” asked Dean.

Raphael leaned over towards Dean, being careful to shield the baby's ears. “She smells like vanilla!' he whispered.

“A redhead!' laughed Dean. “Good going, dude.”

Raphael nodded, and bounced the baby.

“This is crazy,” said Dean. “So this is the message from your dad?” he asked Castiel, who shrugged.

“The messenger is still here,” offered Raphael.

“Oh, yeah!” chuckled Bobby. “You kids gotta meet the guy.”

Dean and Cas looked at each other. “Where is he?” asked Castiel.

“Out in back,” said Raphael. “Smoking. With Balthazar.”

Dean and Castiel proceeded to one of the mansion’s back yard patios. Indeed, Balthazar was out smoking with a winged angel. The guy was a skinny bastard, even skinnier than Castiel. He looked over from where he was chatting with Balthazar and asked. “What’s this? More brothers? Wait, you aren’t an angel.”

“Uh, no, I’m not,” admitted Dean. “I’m Cas’ friend.”

The angel got up and extended a hand, keeping his cigarette away. He had odd, shiny wings, and shiny eyes as well. “Sorry, my boyfriend won’t let me smoke, so I bummed a Marlboro from Balthy.”

“So, you’re a heavenly messenger?” asked Dean.

The angel grinned and blew smoke. “Yeah, I’m a heavenly fucking messenger. What do you want, kid?”

“Well, how ‘bout a message?” said Dean. Castiel nodded.

The guy shook his wings a bit, as if this amused him. “Yeah, I got a message. ‘This time, don’t fuck it up.’”

“Wait, that’s what He said?” asked Dean.

“I’m paraphrasing. Now, me, I might steer clear of calling the little guy Lucifer this time. Maybe that’s your problem. Call him Stanley or something,” suggested the angel, shaking out his wings.

“The angel, Stanley?” asked Dean.

“I am Stanley, angel of the Lord,” tried Castiel.

“Works for me,” said the angel. “Now, I gotta wing. Thanks for the smoke, buddy,” he told Balthazar. And, with a soft rustling sound, he was gone.

“Angels are different from what I thought,” said Dean as Raphael emerged, still holding the infant version of Michael. The rest of the household wandered out behind them.

“What were we supposed to be like?” asked Castiel.

“Well. I pictured more harps.”

The baby Michael squirmed in Raphael’s arms, holding its chubby little arms towards Dean. “Oh, uh, me?” Dean asked. Raphael shrugged and handed Michael over to a very uncomfortable Dean. “So, uh,” Dean told him. “Sorry about the whole dying thing, Mike. That must’ve sucked.”

The baby gabbled and then slumped into Dean’s chest, drooling and emitting a soft baby snore.

“Aw!” said Balthazar, who dabbed at the infant's chin with the small towel he had thrown over a shoulder. “You’re a natural.”

“Hey, it likes me!” said Dean. “So, cool. Hey, little guy. We’ll teach you how to do an oil change. And how not to be a dick!”

Bobby laughed. “Might be a couple more things he needs, Dean.”

“Like what?” asked Dean. Lucifer, or was it Stanley, still in Bobby's arms, let out a burp.

“How to order pizza?” suggested Sam.

“I’m hungry,” said Castiel, rubbing his stomach.

“You’re always hungry,” groused Gabriel. “Maybe we can trade you to the gypsies.”

“Gabriel, you are … a fart knocker!” Castiel told him.

“Dick wings!” said Gabriel.

“Cherub breath!” countered Castiel.

“And that’s how you get along with your brothers,” Dean told the baby, giving it a little smooch on the top of the head. Babies were kind of cool. And they smelled nice.

But baby Michael was asleep. Dreaming sweet dreams. Of pizza and oil changes to come.


End file.
